


Road Work Ahead

by toniwilder



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Canon Typical Violence, Gen, I just really love friendship you guys, [trevor slattery voice] we're all dead but we're not dead, crying and joking because humor is a defense mechanism and these two are sad, everybody is a bud in my world, if the mcu isn't going to give me loki and peter interaction then [thanos voice] I'll do it myself, it's like a puppy hanging out with a surly armadillo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-05-03 04:33:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 37,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14560962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toniwilder/pseuds/toniwilder
Summary: (Infinity War spoilers)If you're going to escape the after-life, you're going to need a guide. Preferably, a god of mischief who has done it before.





	1. It's the afterlife my dudes. (AAAAAAAAAAAAH)

            There’s this old movie called Mad Max that Peter Parker once watched with his Aunt May—or more so through her fingers than with her, since it ended up being a bit more violent than she remembered and she spent most of the evening with her palms covering his young eyes like a makeshift Aunt May blindfold.

            Anyway, Mad Max was about this crazy derelict place that looked suspiciously like Australia where nothing spanned out to the horizon except for the occasional something. Again, usually something violent. Sometimes not.

            Death was a bit like that, it turned out.

            Peter rocketed into awareness. He’d appeared here standing amongst the nothingness of blue tinged dirt, or mud, or something, and then immediately rolled into a crouch with his arms out and ready for attack. The hair on his back prickled up and moved back and forth like through the wind as his body let him know what even a small child’s mind could understand. Something was wrong here.

            He reached down with his fingers, still clothed in the Iron Spider suit made by Mr. Stark, and dug into the soil. The blue granules came up in his palm like sugar and Peter pressed his other hand on top of it until it fell back into the ground like kinetic sand. He swallowed, looked around, and called out.

            “Mr. Stark?”

            His voice echoed back to him, choking him, and Peter fell backwards into the dirt. Hands shaking, holding the dirt, he tried again.

            “M-Mr. Stark? Are you there?”

            His chest tightened, sobs already peeking and piling onto his tongue. Peter wiped away his tears, noting the surprising gentleness of his suit of armor, and whispered, “Oh God.”

            “Mr. Stark!” Peter’s fists dug into the sand and his voice keened out, so high he felt like his vocal cords might snap. “Anybody?! Mr—I mean—Doctor—oh God, I don’t know your real name I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

            _Tony’s face above him, his hands holding onto Peter like he was all there was left in the world, and Peter saying over and over “I’m sorry,” because in those last moments he remembers Tony saying on that dock, “And I feel like, if you die, that’s on me.”_

Peter crumbled to the ground, let the sand rub into the soft cradling of Tony Stark’s suit—the one he made to take him home even though Peter didn’t listen—and he wept until his tears made a puddle in the blue sand. He shut his eyes, pulled his knees to his chest, and thought of how absolutely unfair it was that he could be dead and still cry so hard that it hurt his ribs.

            When he cried, it was hard to feel through the agony and listen to the instinct in his heart that told him something might be wrong. How could things be any more wrong? But still, something curled in his gut and made him nauseous with wrongness, of something Other, floating in the air around him.

            Sniffing, his lips reaching out on his face so his bottom lip trembled like some stupid, scared little kid, he looked up from the dirt and met the eye of a stranger with unkept black hair that hung in his sharp-featured face. Only one eye made itself seen and it was a shocking green-blue. His leather tunic hugged his body tight and looked like it once covered part of his neck, but had since been torn to reveal an ugly, crawling blue and yellow bruise in the shape of a nearly comically huge hand print. Only comical if Peter didn’t know just whose hand it belonged to.

            “Th…” Peter shakily motioned to the man’s neck and the stranger coiled back, going from indifferent to disgusted, a bit like a huffy house-cat. “Thanos?” he asked, still embarrassingly weak from his tears.

            The name sent the stranger rocking back until he sat cross legged in front of Peter. He curled his thin lips inward until his mouth was a small line that bit back whatever he was thinking. Finally, in a hoarse voice, the stranger said—in a voice that reminded Peter of Shakespeare:

            “You’re a little young to know about that kind of cruelty, boy.”

            Peter crumbled again, the tears overflowing like an endless fountain. “A-am I d-dead?” he whimpered.

            The man frowned at him. After great contemplation, he replied, “For now.”

            Peter bent forward and groaned, hoping that might make the tears stop, but only started him up again. “I left M-mr. Stark-k al-lone. Oh God, and Aunt May—Ned—Oh no no n-no!”

            Remembering the stranger, Peter wiped at his face all over again. “I’m sorry, mister, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t n-normally d-d-do thi-i-s, I swear. I s-swear.”

            “It’s alright,” the man murmured. “The first death is the hardest.”

            “The f-first?” Peter stared at him, really seeing him now. The look of him, the leather and the presence, and he gasped. “Are you…?”

            The man reared back, eyebrows raised. “Am I what?”

            “Are you a _god?_ ”

            He snorted. “There’s been some argument on behalf of that subject lately.”

            Peter grabbed that distraction with hungry hands and a desperate mind. “Do you know Thor?”

            Something pointedly melancholy colored the man’s soft smile. “Mhmm.”

            “Oh man, that’s gotta be so cool!” Peter sniffed and wiped at his nose. “I never got to meet him, but my friend worked with him! Is he as big as he looks in pictures?”

            “I can’t speak for how he appears in pictures,” the man said, “but he is very large. Like a stumbling bull at times.”

            “Oh man, that’s awesome!” Peter laughed. “How long did you know him?”

            The man flashed his teeth, something almost predatory about it, but Peter wasn’t about to turn him away. Not when the emptiness of death’s chasm had nearly swallowed him up moments before. “My entire life,” the man answered.

            Then, like he was revealing a punchline, the man spread his arms out wide and said, “I am Loki.”

            _Shit._

            Peter’s lips sputtered like a dying train, puffing away around the name.

            “L-l-l-l-loki-i? Like, L-loki Loki? Like New York? Like—”

            Loki, still grinning, nodded. He hummed another affirmation and lifted his chin up more.

            “That was, uhm, a pretty big deal. I don’t know if you know. My school did a field trip where we helped restore people’s houses and-and- and uhm.” Peter rubbed the back of his neck. “This was pre-spider me, by the way.”

            “Of course,” Loki replied patiently. His hands folded in front of him like a school teacher.

            “Anyway, I met this lady who made me and Ned a plate of brownies, but she had mixed them up with edibles.”

            “Edibles?” Loki questioned.

            “Weed.” Loki’s confusion didn’t alleviate. “Do you guys not smoke weed in Asgard?” Before Loki could respond, Peter scoffed at himself. “Of course not! You wouldn’t have the same plants. I’m sorry. This is a lot right now. It’s, like, uhm. Uhm. Do you guys have, like, peyote?”

            Loki shook his head.

            “That’s another Earth thing! Ugh!” Peter stared up at the endless sky. “It’s like. Uhm. You take this plant—it kind of looks like a leaf—I mean, it _is_ a leaf—and you uhm… You crunch it up? I don’t actually know how people do it. I don’t do drugs, Mr. Loki—”

            “Mr. Loki,” he echoed.

            “It chills you out, anyway, and gets you high. You know what getting high is, right? Do you have coke in Asgard? I mean, I don’t do coke either! Or weed! I mean, other than the edibles—”

            “Intoxicated,” Loki finally understood.

            “Yeah!”

            Peter pointed at him and Loki reared back, still wearing that smirk that Peter was beginning to understand as the ‘harmless and amused adult’ smile. It was different than the exasperation Tony wore when Peter went on babbling, though Tony was fond as well. Loki’s patience and focus appeared far more grounded than most others, but he was probably way older too.

            “So, we ate these edible brownies, thinking they were normal brownies, so we ate… a lot. More than we should have, even if they were just normal brownies.”

            “That is a lot of brownies,” Loki concurred.

            “Right!? So, it didn’t kick in until after I got home, and my Aunt May thought I was having a stroke, so she took me to the ER—which is like, a uh, it’s like an emergency place for uhm… emergencies,” he finished lamely.

            Loki nodded. “Right.”

            “And the doctor told us that I was high, and then Aunt May grounded me for six months.”

             “That’s nearly half of your lifespan,” Loki said, deadly serious.

            Pouting, Peter crossed his arms. “It sure felt like it.”

            He uncurled from himself, noting in the back of his head the sheer ridiculousness of sitting in the afterlife across from _the_ Loki, of all people. Or gods. Or whatever.

            “Mr. Loki?”

            Loki’s head tilted ever so slightly. “Yes?”

            “You said ‘the first time’, right? Have you died before?”

            Loki steepled his hands in his lap and chewed on the inside of his cheek. Peter’s eyes wandered back to that ugly bruise on his neck, the way his bloodshot eyes glimmered with something at all times that looked suspiciously wet. Loki’s bite released, and he breathed out a harsh laugh and bared a smile that was all teeth.

            “If we forgo permanence, then yes.”

            “Forgo permanence,” Peter quoted with a gust of air. “Do you write poetry?”

            Loki barked a laugh. “It has been very quiet here,” he dodged the question. “For what feels like ages. I must be losing my grip.”

            “Grip on what?”

            Loki untangled his long fingers and rested his chin on his palm while he watched Peter. “You can’t possibly be here, boy. Not in this way. Not with such light.”

            Peter frowned. “What do you mean?”

            “You and I could never occupy the same after-life.” Loki spoke in such a way that filled the air like the recital of a monologue. His voice was grand, the kind of smooth movement that reminded Peter of someone on skates. Loki shut his eyes and with a sudden horror, Peter spotted a tear slip from the corner of his eye despite the teeth-gritting grin Loki wore. “Not unless my mind has made a new illusion. I am used to the ghosts of my parentage. I am used to the overwhelming presence of my brother… I am used to the demons of my past, the shadow of the hand on my throat. I am not sure what to do with you.”

            “… Mr. Loki?”

            Loki’s eyes opened again, though he seemed surprised Peter still sat in front of him.

            “I… I am here. We were…” Peter gritted his teeth. “Thanos won.”

            Loki’s chest curled in like Peter had physically punched him. His hand moved up to cover his mouth and he shut his eyes again. When he finally spoke, it was desolate, “Of course he did.” He let out a breath that shook towards the end.

            “Mr. Loki… How did you come back to life before?” Peter asked, hoping maybe that would make Loki a bit bigger again, would bring back that bemused English Professor smug look on his face. Loki shrugged near lifelessly.

            “With great energy and spite, I suppose. I had a father to usurp and a brother to bother. A kingdom to rule.” Loki snorted and, eyes still shut, waved his other hand outward in a grand gesture. “I built a statue of myself. It was magnificent. No one questioned it.”

            “I don’t know if I’d want a statue of myself,” Peter blurted out. Loki’s eyes opened with a ghost of irritation. “Not that you shouldn’t! I just… I look so bad in selfies, I can’t imagine liking a statue of me. Although the spider-man toys they make are pretty cool. Have you seen them?”

            “Who is spider-man?” questioned Loki.

            “Me. Oh… Well, he was me I guess. I uhm… I saved people. Kinda like a mini-avenger. I had to go to school, so I couldn’t be ready all the time, but I stopped people from getting mugged. Well, not just getting mugged. I did lots of stuff. One time I saved this guy from getting hit by scaffolding, which was pretty neat, but he was afraid of spiders, so the web really freaked him out.”

            “The web.”

            “I shoot webs!” Peter chirped as he again clung to Loki’s insatiable curiosity. “Like—Well, it’s easier if I show you.”

            Peter turned his wrist over and, as quick as a blink, his web shooter shot Loki’s arm to create an additional wrap around his forearm. Loki’s eyes widened, and he lifted his arm to examine it. After a few seconds of turning his arm in the air, his other hand plucking at the web to watch it spring back to its original placement, he looked up at Peter.

            “Useful, but slightly disgusting.”

            “That guy thought it was _super_ disgusting. He smacked me over the head with his arm and I almost dropped him. That would have been bad publicity for spider-man. I don’t think I’d have many toys made of me then.”

            Loki laughed again, a brittle sound. “No, I don’t suppose you would.” He ran a hand through his hair and pulled it away from his face, unveiling sharp cheekbones and a stark black hairline traced over a pallid face. He then looked at Peter, something like consideration painted on his expression.

            “Mr. Loki?” Peter wrapped his arms loosely around his gut.

            “Yes?”

            “I need to go back home.”

            After so much back and forth, the silence felt suffocating; as though their conversation had sucked all the oxygen out of the afterlife. Peter clenched and unclenched his hands, hoping this wouldn’t be the mystery trigger that set Loki off and turned him into the monster so many had claimed he was in that battle in New York.

            Not that Peter didn’t believe New York’s aftermath had been monstrous or anything! It was just that… well, Loki seemed to know what it meant to curl up after death and sob until his ribs broke, and that struck Peter as shockingly human for a god.

            Loki’s mouth curved down into a sturgeon’s frown. He nodded a few times and, web still curled around his arm, he pushed himself onto his feet. “Dying is not a good look for Earth’s Spider-man, I imagine.”

            Peter scrambled to his feet. “Yes! I mean, no it’s not! Will you help me, then?!”

            Loki had already turned succinctly on his heel, heading further towards the horizon of this barren wasteland. He shrugged.

            “Why not?” Loki flashed a grin down towards Peter. He was surprisingly tall, considering his leanness. “It’s not as though I have much else going on.”

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Road work ahead? Uh yeah, I sure hope it does.
> 
> I don't know how long this story is going to be, but I do know that I'm a simple creature that lives for affirmation and unlikely friendships.


	2. What up! I’m Loki. I’m 1400, and I never f-in learned how to not-die.

            Loki had felt close to the macabre since infancy.

            Knowing what he knew now, it made sense. Even before being adopted by Odin, his sister was the goddess of death. Likely the part of his surrogate father that had led him to that altar in Jotunheim had been the part of him that had built and groomed Hela. It wasn’t lost on Loki in that Midgardian field how she’d stepped out of Hel wearing his colors—right down to the black of her hair, unkept and wild, and the cold winter in her eyes.

            His first brush was death was in the stories they told him in the halls of the castles—from nurse maids to a sweet prince, still wildly stupid and kept by his manipulative kin. The Asgardians were bred to die, to walk forward into the halls of Valhalla with honor and courage. Like Thor, mocking Thanos even under his heavy-handed executioner’s fist.

            Funny enough, for a man who had died more than the typical once, Loki had never moved in the shadows with the intention to die.

            Not that he had meant to live when he fell into the void, away from Thor and Odin hanging desperately off the Bifrost and reaching for him with open hands. He hadn’t meant to do anything. It had been an empty gesture, and if he had been filled with any urge in that moment it had been simply to run.

            Hysterically, in hindsight, maybe it was better to say his urge had been to fall.

            Then Thanos found him, flanked by his sickly white children with their multitude of horrific talents, and Loki swore to never fall away without a plan again. Even if it was a bad plan. Loki had made due with plenty of bad plans and crawled out of the other side. Admittedly maybe a bit greasy and scattered for his efforts, but he was on his feet and that was enough. Flashbacks of his entire experience with the Grandmaster occurred to him and Loki, even in hindsight, still had to swallow back a flush and stomach his way through the memories.

            Getting stabbed in Svartlheim hadn’t exactly been according to plan, but he’d been well enough to channel his seidr and use the magic to shove every bit of life-source into that bleeding, ugly wound. While he lay, dead on the battlefield (and abandoned by Thor), Loki’s mind did the dirty work of any soul unable to enter Valhalla. He had to find his way back, and he did.

            All according to plan.

            That thing with Odin… Well, that hadn’t _not_ been according to plan. Loki wasn’t about to go back into the vault of Odin’s mistakes and he knew (and now felt pretty justified, having met Hela) that Odin would rather have his youngest failure out of sight for all eternity. It wasn’t as though he had killed the All-father. Just a bit of fun, just a bit of retributive justice to toss the king out when he had made such a habit of casting everyone else out as well. It hadn’t been Loki’s fault Odin took to Earth, that he had hidden from Thor like he had. How was Loki to know Odin was as big a coward as he?

            Loki built the statue, to see if anyone would call his bluff, and they didn’t. The plan twisted and turned, but it never disappeared, not even when he took the Tesseract away from the smoldering ash of Asgard. He couldn’t leave it to be found by Hela, right?

            Or something.

            Planning was malleable, alright? Sometimes the pieces didn’t reveal themselves until well into the last act of the play.

            There he went, thinking about plays again. The years relaxing under the All-father’s guise had certainly changed him.

            Loki could not rely on Thor, the reckless, one-eyed idiot berserker, to die and come back. He would go to Valhalla and stay there, because anybody who could wouldn’t dream of crawling back into a cold, indifferent existence where people like Thanos could collect charms for their oversized jewelry and disgusting giant hands and use them to power their misguided genocidal nightmare scape.

            Was the spider boy in a Stark-reeking supersuit according to plan?

            Ah, well, again…

            Planning was malleable.

            When Loki awoke in the limitless span of a cold afterlife, the one before Hel took a soul or spit it out, he sat backwards and ripped the leather of his cloak until he felt like he could breathe again. He curled his seidr around his hands, into the muscles of his neck until his soul could remember its shape without the crushing hand of the titan on his neck.

            Loki’s first word in death was a curse word not fit for All-speak translation, let alone for the human boy’s earnest ears.

            He lay back in the dirt, a black ground comparable to Midgardian tarred asphalt. Loki ran his finger along the surface, saw it did not budge, and used it as a push point to lift himself up to his feet.

            He had originally hoped to drag Thor to Earth, but the idiot had gotten himself caught by the ugliest of the Titan’s disciples, leaving Loki to risk himself to keep Thor off the radar for just a while longer. Since that wasn’t going to happen, Loki was left to move forward as he had in Svartlheim, only this time without a corpse to phase back into.

            Lovely.

            Loki marked his progress by the shift in the ground below his feet, how it churned into different textures and colors like a tapestry. While exhaustion shouldn’t have been able to impact him, his body was material and immaterial all at once. His normally straight shoulders hunched over and his feet dragged. He searched the landscape for anything, found a hump of sand and crossed over it before sitting and thinking, really, how much did he really care about the universe anyway?

            The boy’s crying carried like a siren over the dead landscape and Loki cursed again as he made sense of it.

            Killing a child. That sounded perfectly in character for Thanos. True indifference to the individual experience.

            Loki sighed, pulled himself back to his feet, tugged a bit more on his collar to clear his airwaves, and followed the sound of the child in the echo chamber they’d been banished to.

            The ground shifted from a sinking quick-sand purple to a navy blue of a thicker consistency that took the strain off Loki’s calves. He slowed his pace when the boy came in view, curled up in a fetal position on the horizon, and Loki considered himself again.

            Of all people to meet in death, did he really want to inflict himself on this boy?

            Mercy took different forms. Loki hoped this might be one of them. He slowed his pace and walked closer to the boy, watching his fists dig into the sand like he was trying to dig a hole to crawl into, to shield himself from the emptiness of the world.

            The boy’s hair was scruffy, reminding him of a young Thor, and Loki squatted beside him, hands curled into one another as he awaited the boy to pull himself together. Loki picked absently at the glove over his palm and waited.

            When the boy finally looked up, eyes wide and lip trembling like an ocean wave, Loki cursed again, this time inwardly.

            Another change in plan, one that involved the boy who now tailed after him like an eager pup calling him ‘Mr. Loki’ and endearing him so much that Loki wanted to kill him for daring to make his afterlife harder than it already was.

            “Mr. Loki,” the boy said again, his steps two for every one of Loki’s long legs, “You’re the god of mischief, right?”

            “So I’m called,” Loki replied, sparing him a glance and slowing his pace.

            “I bet you’ve played some wicked jokes on Thor,” Peter said, almost breathless with his awe.

            Loki smiled despite himself. “He wouldn’t be so excited to agree, but yes.”

            “What’s your favorite?”

            “Other than usurping the throne and humiliating him in a variety of epics to our people?”

            “I was thinking, like, stapler in jello kind of pranks, Mr. Loki.”

            Forgiving that Loki had no idea what a stapler or jello was, he figured the boy was asking about the less treasonous jokes of his childhood.

            “Not unlike you, my brother was very eager growing up. Eager for food, eager for friendship, eager to fight. No soul could accuse him of being anything but energetic with any obstacle or opportunity that made itself known to him,” Loki began. He looked down at Peter. “I am a shapeshifter, did the Earthlings tell you this?”

            The spiderling gasped. “What?! No! They didn’t! That’s awesome, Mr. Loki!”

            Loki’s heart swelled inexplicably. He straightened his shoulders and looked forward.

            “The wizard could do some stuff like that,” the boy added, and the warmth in Loki’s chest dissipated immediately.

            “I assure you it’s very different from that cheap magician’s tricks,” he said, trying very hard not to sound as irritated as he was even while speaking through his teeth. “I shifted into strangers, various kinds of differing genders and skins and voices. I befriended Thor in all of these shapes, and then proceeded to call him ‘Bore’ as all of them at various states of the day. In one day he had been called ‘Bore’ by as many as fifty of who he thought to be his new, close friends.”

            The boy gaped at him. “What did he _do_?”

            “His ego was bruised until our mother walked by while I was shifted and greeted me. She said, because she knew and would never dare to let me get away with too much at once, ‘Oh, that is a great disguise, Loki. Your talents are so impressive.’”

            A chime of a laugh came from the boy. “Oh man, I bet Thor was super pissed at you, Mr. Loki.”

            “His ego wasn’t the only thing that was bruised, let’s just end it there, boy,” Loki rolled his shoulders back again and lifted his chin up.

            “You can call me Peter, Mr. Loki,” the boy said.

            “I think your Stark would be ‘super pissed’ to know I’ve learned your true name,” Loki reminded.

            “Only if he thought you would hurt me,” Peter countered. “And even if he did, I don’t. He’s not my dad, you know. I can do whatever I want.”

            Loki rolled his eyes. “It’s worked out very well for you, doing as you like.” He motioned outwards to the empty scape of an orange ground that rolled underneath their feet like the shallows of a river.

            “That would be a sweet burn, Mr. Loki, if you weren’t dead too.” He said it so innocently, like he’d just complimented Loki’s cape (again). Loki stopped and stared at Peter, eyebrows raised and mouth open.

            “Oh?”

            Peter froze, still staring forward, then sputtered out an awkward laugh and offered a shrug. “I mean, just kidding! Hah. It was… Uhm, it was a joke.”

            “Is my death a joke to you?” Loki asked, figuring now was as good a time as any to acclimate Peter to his admittedly cruel sense of humor. “Have you ever died at the hand of an enemy? Felt your organs fail?” Loki stepped closer and Peter’s face fell. “He put his hand around my throat and gripped me like I was a clothe to be wrung out, you cruel boy.”

            “Mr. Loki, I’m sorry.” Peter’s words practically came out over one another, reminding Loki of scampering mice. “I mean, I’m dead too, right? We’re both dead. It’s like our i-inside joke.”

            Loki stared him down, really using every angle that might make him seem sharper, like the daggers he carried. Then he shrugged, turned, and started on again.

            “I suppose you make a good point, Peter. Never mind that then.”

            Loki had walked a few feet away before he bothered to look backwards to Peter who had yet to move. “Are you coming?” he lifted his voice to ask.

            Peter was frowning deeply after him. “He choked you… to death?”

            Loki swallowed. This wasn’t just a boy, he was a _human_ boy. He had likely grown up swaddled by his parents in a pile of soft blankets and kept away from the imagery of battlefield deaths, torture, and the violence of a warrior kind like Asgard. He remembered himself, young and afraid in the training ring with his father watching his mentor beat Loki down with training swords and telling him, over and over again, this is the life of an Asgardian prince: violence.

            “Yes,” Loki answered.

            Peter shook his head. “Mr. Loki, that’s so awful. I’m really sorry…” He opened his mouth to add something else in the shocked silence that had rendered Loki’s silver tongue motionless, and then shook his head again. “I mean, I wish I could say something else. That’s really terrible.”

            Loki prickled, unable to look away from the earnest gaze of this naïve boy.

            “Yes, well, it happens.”

            Peter walked back over to him, still frowning. “Do you think you’ll be okay?” he asked, “When we make our way out of here?”

            Every alarm in Loki’s brain was screaming ‘stab the kid and run before he finds out who you really are’, but he settled for the softer impulse. The one that made him shrug and flash a brittle smile. “When am I not?”

            “Well, when you die, for one,” Peter reminded, teasing him.

            Loki cursed again, this time aloud, and looked away.

            “What’s that mean?” Peter asked.

            “It means we have far more ground to cover, Peter,” Loki lied. “Let’s keep moving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter: You're disrespecting--you're disrespecting a future Avenger: Earth's Mightiest Hero.
> 
> Again, affirmation is like water and I need it to live. Also, stay hydrated my friends.


	3. Back at it Again in the Afterlife

            “I hate this place.”

            Peter fell to one knee, then dropped to the other. He let out a long groan.

            “It all looks the same! How do we know we’re close!?” He turned his mouth into the dirt—now a fluttering kind of grey-blue that felt like the surface of a leaf. “Mish muscks,” he whined into the ground.

            Loki hummed in consideration, still on his feet above him, but said nothing more. A few more moments of silence—what felt like thirty minutes to Peter, but had truly been only thirty seconds—Peter put his hand back to the ground to push himself up…

            To feel soft grass beneath his palm.

            A breeze brushed over his hair and Peter, knock-kneed and bouncing, jumped onto his feet. His muscles took him high, towards the bright blue of the Earth sky, and he did a front flip with the momentum. The park—no, wait! Central Park! Around them, bright and beautiful with its perfectly groomed foliage and massive trees. Peter beamed, home again, and spun his arms outwards like he was about to star in a musical number.

            “We’re back! We’re alive!”

            He stepped forward, already knowing what he’d show to Loki before they went back to the fight with Thanos. “There’s this awesome hotdog stand not far from here, Mr. Loki,” Peter babbled, “I mean, hopefully he’s still alive. There’s a 50/50 shot, right? Anyway, I can’t wait for you to try the New York Signature Dirty Dog—Wh…”

            With Peter’s step forward, the world did nothing to move with him. The orientation stayed, like a gif of a perfect portrait of Central Park on a summer day. Peter stepped again, and found himself no closer. Like on a treadmill in front of a mural. Peter took off into a run, maybe he’d catch it, but… No. It stayed, forever out of reach.

            Peter slowed until he crawled to a stop. Then, remembering his companion, he turned around. “Mr. Loki?”

            Behind him, Loki stood in the now-familiar backdrop of limbo—a white endless sky and a horizon made of color gradient, shifting dirt. Loki raised his eyebrows, innocent, and Peter felt stupid for believing the look until Loki smiled and lifted a hand and Central Park disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

            “You wanted a change of scenery,” Loki reminded. His arm lowered, and he swept his hand out to catch his flourished cape. He strode across the small clearing between them, as though he hadn’t just created a false reality, and right past Peter.

            “Wait!” Peter grabbed Loki’s arm by the bicep. “How—How did you do that?! Mr. Loki, that’s wicked cool!”

            Something flashed across Loki’s face, like he had to translate Peter’s words in his head.

            “A simple trick,” Loki replied. He shrugged Peter’s hand off. “Nothing else.”

            “I’ve only—I mean, the reality stone is the only time I’ve seen somebody do that!” Peter gaped. “Can you do it again!?”

            Loki blinked and then turned back in front of him. “We ought to continue—”

            “We’ve been continuing for ages!”

            “A handful of hours,” Loki corrected. “At most.”

            “Mr. Loki!” Peter pleaded. “It’s _magic_!”

            Loki’s eyebrows raised again, a strange expression coming over his face. “Yes…” He said, slow, unsure. He looked Peter up and down, distracted and almost confused. “And?”

            “It’s so _cool_!”

            A smile, different from the wolf-baring grin he wore when telling stories about usurping thrones and leading armies, came across his face. A smile that looked almost humbled. Loki cleared his throat, a habit he’d been making more and more as they continued along their journey, and lifted his hands in a simple “oh shucks” gesture.

            “It’s truly nothing special,” he began. “But if you’re going to beg, I can’t allow you to get in such a habit of embarrassing yourself. It’s unbecoming.”

            “Sure, man, whatever.” Peter grinned. “What else can you do?”

            “There’s very little I can’t do in the way of illusions,” a voice said from behind Peter.

            Peter spun around and broke into giddy laughter at the sight of Loki’s double, a perfect replica.

            “I’m a gifted sorcerer.” Peter turned around again to the source of Loki’s speech. Another double. The three met together in front of Peter and said, in unison, “More-so than that cheap, imposter you met on Earth.”

            “That is—AH!”

            Peter’s words came in surround sound from his own copy that stood behind him. Peter turned back around and walked closer to his mirror image. The two Peters circled themselves, both wearing unsure but intrigued smiles on their faces until he began to truly read into the details. Tired eyes, the battered suit, the way his arms hung a little heavier on his shoulders than the last time he looked in a mirror. Peter stopped, and his double did too.

            “I look like Hell,” he grumbled.

            “What did you expect?”

            Peter spun around. No Loki in sight, just Mr. Stark like he used to look. A little less grey, a little less dead-eyed. Not like the man who had held him while he died, not like the man who lectured him on Thanos’s ship. He smiled under that distinct goatee and said, voice to match the face, “You are dead, after all.”

            “Mr. Stark…” Peter gawked. His mind raced faster than a hundred greyhounds out of the gate. His chest felt thick, like a film of metal had been placed on his heart. He rushed forward, grabbed Stark in his arms.

            “I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark. I tried-d. I-I tried to stay.” The tears were coming again. He clung to Tony, tight so his hands wouldn’t shake. “I really did try my hardest. I wanted to save you.”

            Realization hit Peter like a brick to the face.

            “Oh God, no, did he—he killed you too? After the wizard tried to save you—”

            He pulled away, immediately aware of the leather cladded chest in front of him and the release of fingers from a royal feeling emerald fabric.

            Peter lifted his head, a different kind of hurt making a home in his heart when he met Loki’s eyes.

            “Just illusions,” Loki murmured down at Peter with something like pity in his eyes. “Nothing like the reality stone. I can only make you think you feel and see things. I cannot change what is true.”

            Aunt May once gave him a lesson, when he had first hit puberty and was getting picked on a little more than the usual amount for a pre-adolescent boy, that sometimes it paid to get mad. That, being nice was only being nice, and sometimes being nice didn’t always mean being good. There was such a thing as what philosophers called a “righteous anger”.

            Aunt May just called it “scaring people into their place”.

            Some part of Peter’s lizard brain remembered the phrase for a split second before his vision went nearly red. He slammed his fists into Loki’s chest and the god of mischief stumbled back, visibly surprised.

            “What is your problem!?” Peter’s voice cracked in betrayal. “You have the ability to make anything, and you use it to screw with my head?! I’m the only person out here, and you want to play tricks?!”

            “You asked,” Loki countered with the audacity to sound offended.

            “I didn’t ask for you to do that!” The tears spilled out. “He’s out there, fighting Thanos alone, because I couldn’t stay and help!”

            “He is a grown man—”

            “He’s my friend!” Peter snapped. He pushed Loki again. “And I was supposed to be helping him! And I—I _can’t_! Because—!”

            When he slammed his fist into Loki’s chest this time, there was no movement backwards. He was a wall.

            “I’m!”

            _Hit!_

            “Stuck!”

            _Hit!_

            “Here!”

            _Hit! Hit!_

“With you!”

            Loki pushed him back.

            “I don’t have to help you,” Loki reminded, back to using that growling predatory voice he used to introduce himself. “You understand that, right? I could have left you, crying in the dirt like the defenseless infant you are.”

            Peter screamed inarticulately, feeling immensely more compassionate for Mr. Stark and Aunt May because, boy, was it annoying when people didn’t listen!

            “But instead,” Peter lectured loudly, “you decided to trick me and act like a huge _dick_!”

            Loki coiled backwards and stared down at Peter, again like he was trying to make sense of Peter’s words.

            “How was I being a dick?” he demanded in a voice that made Peter feel like he’d been caught by his teacher cursing in the hallway.

            “I feel bad, okay! I feel bad because I died! And you just—you just come over and remind me about who I failed and what he’s probably doing up there with no back up! That’s a—a—”

            Peter huffed out a breath and the action made his anger deflate until he felt nothing but exhaustion. He grumbled, “Dick. Move.”

            Silence. Peter could swear he saw the cogs turning in Loki’s brain as he pondered the science in the kid’s ‘dick move’ observation. Finally, Loki snorted out a breath of air from his nose.

            “I was simply displaying my prowess in sorcery,” he declared, so broad-chested that Peter almost missed the slight tone of embarrassment. For a master manipulator, it appeared Loki knew very little about expressing genuine sentiment.

            Then, somehow even huffier, Loki said, “Just as you asked me to.”

            Peter sighed.

            “Mr. Loki,” he tried patiently. Loki’s eyes went from behind Peter’s head to his eyes, although a little narrowed and annoyed. “I wanted to see you turn into, like, I dunno, a rabbit or something. Not for you to give me freaking PTSD.”

            “PTSD?”

            “It’s uh.” Peter bit his lip. “It’s a uhm. It’s a superhero thing.”

            “What do the letters signify?”

            And just like that, they were back on the mutual ground of curiosity where Loki reached out for more knowledge like a baited shark—complacent as long as he was being fed.

            “It’s just, uh…”

            Peter thought of his counselor after Uncle Ben died. A young woman at the one community mental health center nearby who actually took Aunt May’s insurance. Peter always caught her taking a smoke break in the back alley in-between her sessions with clients, looking tired and always one step away from quitting. She wore messy eye makeup and a foundation shade the wrong color for her skin, but looked at Peter with genuine empathy when she said:

            “We all go through things we wish we never had to deal with, Pete. No matter what. If we’re lucky, it’s the regular kind of pain, the sort of stuff we have time to build up to. Like a video game, y’know? You get to grind through the menial, the tedious, the painful things we can handle. We can build up our resilience. But sometimes we face a boss too soon…

            “I feel like this metaphor is too simple for you, but I still think it works. Some people go through tragedy all the time. They become used to it to survive. That’s their level up. Their grinding.

            “But sometimes… When we’re hit with something out of left field. It’s like a Game Over, y’know? And our brain keeps taking us back there, over and over, trying to beat the boss we were never prepared to fight, and we keep getting that Game Over screen. Because we were never meant to lose anybody we love. Our brain has a hard time with it. It might always have a hard time with it.”

            “I don’t care about a game over screen,” Peter told her vehemently, through tears he told himself was because he was so mad. Mad at her, for comparing the death of his uncle to some final stage Bowser. “I just want my Uncle Ben back.”

            Would Loki understand the idea of going back over old memories over and again until it tore into the psyche like a bleeding rash? The way a simple word could send someone flying into a panic attack, or to a place where dressing up in a costume and fighting muggers seemed like a reasonable way to spend time? Peter crossed his arms and stuck his hands in his armpits before turning away.

            “Peter?” Loki tried again.

            “PTSD is Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It’s like… It’s like your whole life is defined by a terrible thing that happened to you and you, uhm… You just can’t seem to move on or be who you used to be, before it all happened. Not even if it’s what you want more than anything in the world.”

            Loki said nothing and Peter was too afraid to look at him again. Afraid to see a smile, especially that heartless one Loki liked to wear sometimes that reminded Peter of just what he had done in New York. Peter did not want to be telling this to the guy who had done… _that_ to New York.

            “So, you just… Y’just try your hardest to make things okay. So you feel better. About what happened, I mean. And you try to help others, so they don’t feel that way too. You try really hard not to think about it, but you uhm. You think about it a lot. I mean… I do. A lot.”

            Peter bit his lip and shrugged, awkward and stiff. He stared out at the endless horizon and felt so heavy for it. Knowing it might never end. That he was cursed to be so conflicted even after dying. Maybe even for all eternity.

            “It feels a lot like trying your best to climb a mountain and then always falling off just when you think you have the hang of it, I guess. Or at least… I don’t know. It feels like that for me anyway.”

            Loki said nothing.

            He continued to say nothing even as Peter squirmed, standing beside him. He could spot the god in his peripheral, a stony figure who had yet to move from his side to continue their journey forward into the nothingness.

            When Peter finally turned his head up and to the side to look to Loki, he realized Loki’s silence had nothing to do with waiting for Peter’s reply. Loki stared out at the same horizon, something wet in his eyes. He stayed that way for a while until he realized Peter staring at him.

            “Are you alright?” Peter asked.

            Loki snapped back into awareness to look at Peter. Just as quickly, he looked back to the horizon.

            “Is that what creates heroes?” he murmured. “… I had no idea.”

            Peter felt oddly violating to be looking at Loki in that moment, so he turned his gaze to the ground. “I mean, I dunno about anybody else, but... It’s what made me want to help, though.”

            They stood there for a long while, in the silence of their contemplation, until Loki’s voice broke through almost like a whisper. It was when he spoke the softest that Peter remembered how much of Loki’s silver tongue had been ravaged by Thanos.

            “I apologize for the image of Stark,” he said. “I didn’t realize what he meant…”

            Loki shook his head. “Rather, I had no idea what that meaning truly entailed.”

            Peter went stiff when Loki’s hand rested on Peter’s shoulder. Then, before Peter could look at him or accept the apology, Loki had disappeared.

            Peter spun around in place. “Wh-! Wait!” He searched in all directions for the towering presence of his new companion. “Mr. Loki! It’s alright!” He stepped back and something below his feet scampered out and around in a black blur before settling a foot away from Peter.

            A black rabbit with unmistakable green eyes peered up at him. Peter gawked, eased down to his feet to stare into the face of Loki’s new form. He watched, nearly collapsing to his stomach to get closer to the sight, as Loki’s body used matter in the air to twist and turn gracefully from a young rabbit to a viper that hissed at Peter.

            Peter jumped back, laughing, before reaching his hand out towards Loki.

            “Do you remember me like this?” he wondered aloud to the hissing snake. “Man… This is so cool. You could win so many talent shows with this.”

            Loki turned into a hyena and laughed in Peter’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the most cathartic thing I've written in my life and I've written some pretty self-serving things in my life. Expect many additions to this very soothing, weird-ass friendship I have decided to invest all my mental health into.
> 
> (Again, leave me positive affirmation in the form of comments and you will be given eternal life in the form of my unconditional love.)


	4. Why You Always Lyiiiiin?

            Peter Parker, otherwise known rather ironically as the Spider-Man, was incredibly emotional, and Loki had to admit to a bit of whiplash from the sheer…

            Openness. Trust. Kindness. Naivety. Affection.

            So many things.

            Peter was just so many things and Loki had used an illusion to gather himself in the face of far less troubling obstacles.

            In that moment, Loki walked slowly behind his copied-self and the boy as Peter babbled on endearingly about an ancient story titled _The Godfather_. The story held many twists and turns, and a greatly complicated family dynamic surrounding a crime syndicate in one of Earth’s many cultural subsets. Both Loki and his copy listened with great interest. His copy nodding patiently with an indifferent look while Loki was able to watch Peter from behind without fear of being too open in expression.

            He smiled when he caught himself getting too lost in Peter’s grand gestures of bouncing feet and sweeping arms in whichever direction—nearly nailing Loki’s double before Loki could correct the illusion. But that wasn’t why he was watching Peter, so Loki had to correct his own gaze to look more critically at the boy.

            How had Thanos killed him?

            His neck was clear, and the suit, while obviously inoperable in the afterlife, had no major marks on it. No sign of any major trauma and even Peter’s skin looked clear—highly unusual for human adolescents. Loki scowled, shook his head, and paced around the front of Peter so he could walk backwards while further examining the boy.

            “I don’t know if you know much about horses, Mr. Loki,” Peter babbled.

            “We have horses in Asgard,” Loki’s copy supplied.

            “Even though you fly everywhere!?” Peter grinned. Not a mark on his mouth to indicate internal bleeding. Damn. “Weird!”

            “What does a horse have to do with this mafia?” The copy inquired.

            “One dude cuts off a horse’s head and leaves it in, oh hah, it rhymes, anyway—he leaves the horse’s head in his _bed_!”

            Loki and his double both paused to raise eyebrows.

            “Huh,” they said.

            As Loki traveled in shadow to get closer to Peter, the boy shivered and rolled his shoulders back. “You feel that?” Peter asked.

            Loki took a step back while his copy innocently asked, “Feel what?”

            “It feels like somebody is--…” Peter stopped in his tracks and looked around until he was staring directly at Loki’s true form. He squinted and then his expression melted into a deep frown.

            “Mr. Loki…”

            “Yes?” The copy asked.

            Peter groaned. “Not you.”

            Loki let out a deep breath and cast the illusion aside. He straightened up as Peter startled only a few inches away, then he stepped backwards to give them both proper distance.

            “Dude!” Peter stomped his feet and groaned again. “Do I have to explain dick moves again?!”

            “I wasn’t doing anything harmful,” Loki assured. He raised his hands up, palms open, and Peter deflated. It was too easy to defuse him.

            “Then what—what were you doing? Huh? You can ask me anything! I mean,” Peter shrugged sheepishly and looked towards the ground. “I mean I can’t answer everything but. I try. It’s rude, man, to just. Ask somebody about something and then not listen.”

            “I was listening about the mafia men and the horse,” Loki assured. Peter’s hurt softened, and he looked back at Loki with scrunched up eyebrows.

            “Then what were you hiding for, Mr. Loki?”

            “The state in which your body was left is important. Your soul has to return somewhere, Peter,” Loki lectured. Peter’s face immediately fell again, and he sniffed, rubbed his nose, and turned his attention back in front of them. The ground had rotated back to blue, the sign that their landscape had begun cycling. The sign that they could not leave yet.

            “And that is why I hid,” Loki said. “Trying to identify your… fatality, is not the sort of question I wanted to directly inquire about.”

            “I mean…” Peter shrugged again, his shoulders shaking a little. “Thanos did it. Does anything else about it matter?” His voice shook towards the end.

            Still just a boy, trying to be a hero even after dying.

            And here he was, with Loki.

            Loki sighed and put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. The boy startled, his eyes darting up with a mix of confusion and agony. No fear.

            _You should be so very afraid of me._

            “Mr. Loki?” Peter stared at his hand, then back to his face. His gaze fluttered to the bruise on Loki’s neck. The newest scar.

            “I will mend it, when I am finished,” Loki assured.

            “Mend what— _ah_!”                   

            Loki pressed his hand to Peter’s forehead and clawed with his magic into the throes of the boy’s mind. He went back, searching for pain, and found a dead man on a sidewalk where the blood trickled into the cement separations. Loki saw a small boy who looked shockingly like Peter, but the light in his eyes gone as he watched an undecorated casket get lowered into a hole. A woman at the boy’s side cried heavy, like her heart was emptied into each individual tear. The boy grabbed her hand and squeezed.

            _I won’t let her get hurt_ , the boy’s voice sounded in the prism Loki searched.

            Loki pushed past the memory, still probing for Thanos’s killing wound and finding the sobbing of a boy with a radiating bite wound on the inside of his forearm instead. He screamed into his pillow and Loki felt the fear, heard the words in Peter’s mind in Peter’s voice.

            _I can’t let May know. I can’t leave her all alone._

            Though the boy on the bed, bleeding out of his nose and burning up from fever, didn’t know it then, his memories knew it now. It knew this moment as a moment of change. His body becoming something new and powerful.

            But this wasn’t what Loki needed, so he dug again.

            Images of Stark became a trend.

            Stark offering haven, sending the boy on missions, giving the boy new suit after new suit after new suit. The man Loki had met during his own conquest had changed, and Loki realized just why his illusion set Peter off. The Stark of his memories looked much older. Far more wary. He wore the mark of a man hunted. The mark of somebody who understood what Thanos could do.

            So why had Stark, who clearly cared for the boy, taken him to the Titan?

            Loki could feel his hold shattering as Peter became more and more distraught at the memories of his old battles and mentor. He didn’t search for Stark’s motivation. He couldn’t. Loki pushed on until he saw—

            Thanos, almost folding under the hold of new warriors. Stark and Peter almost getting the gauntlet off and then…

            Stark, pierced through the stomach and folding forward in blood. Peter’s heart racing as he watched from so far away, trying to rescue everybody else. His brain circled with a cacophony of little boy panic just like the dead man on that Earth sidewalk.

            _No no no no no no no no no no no no no nO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO—_

            Loki shook now. Shook as Peter shook underneath him as they both felt the overwhelming grief and then…

            That earthen wizard gave up the time stone. Stark was alive.

            And then they all started disappearing into ash. One… by one… by one…

            When Loki trembled now, it was not just because of Peter underneath him.

            Peter had walked eternity with him because Peter had no body to return to. He faded to dust, like Odin All-father, and had no vessel left. Thanos had truly obliterated half of the world with no more than a snap of his finger.

            Loki had expected more carnage. He had hoped for a display of egregious strength where the Titan made a show of his insanity and left behind corpses, as he had with Loki in all other meetings.

            Loki let go of Peter and collapsed with him to the ground. Peter folded forward and gasped. He crumbled then, crying like he had when he first died, wordless and traumatized.

            “I am sorry,” Loki promised. He went to press his hands back to Peter’s shoulders and Peter coiled backwards. He watched, gritted his teeth, and the boy buried his forehead into the dirt.

             “I am… Beyond apologetic…” Loki tried again. “I needed to know…” His teeth dug into his bottom lip as he watched Peter wail. “You need a body to go back--… Peter?”

            “P-please s-stop-p,” Peter begged.

            “You are a good son,” Loki found himself saying before he realized his lips had even formed the words. “A good boy. You’ve lived a very full life. There is no shame in death—”

            “Then why am I here with you?!” Peter snapped out. He winced at his own words and curled back, still eyeing Loki like he might reach out and snap his neck. (Not that it would matter.)

            “Here,” Loki offered. “Let me mend what I have refractured.” He held his hand out, open again. Peter didn’t melt this time.

            “I… I don’t want y-you to.” Peter wrapped his arms around his stomach and curled up, nearly fetal. “I know what happened. I-I… I can deal with it.”

            “I’m very sure that you can,” Loki affirmed. “But there is no need for me to unbandage you and leave you vulnerable.”

            “Since when do you care?” The boy snorted. “You don’t care about me. I remember what you did. I lived there my entire life, you think I wasn’t there when you decided to destroy the city? For what, huh? For that bully. _Thanos._ ” Peter rolled his eyes. “You’re not a nice person, Mr. Loki.”

            Loki’s hackles shivered up. “You didn’t seem to mind my monstrous company until I implied you could not come back to life to save your precious Stark,” he hissed.

            “Well, back then you were being very nice and not playing these-these--... these Hannibal Lecter pranks!” Peter huffed.

            “Alright,” Loki scowled. “Enough of this.”

            He grabbed Peter’s hand and slammed it into his forehead. The suit under his fingers felt as soft as clothe, but Loki could feel the coursing metal under his touch, the nanos sucking in all hostility.

            He thought back to Thanos, to the pain, to the crunching of his neck and the fall from grace. He thought of the death by the Kursed, how he curled up into Thor’s touch and cried for forgiveness. The discovery of his origin. Letting go of Gungir, Thor, Odin and…

            Into the void.

            The Titan.

            Again.

            Peter pulled back wildly, in control and staring into Loki’s eyes with more of that young confusion. They sat in silence, knees pulling up grains of blue sand as they stayed kneeling, Peter’s fingers hovering over Loki’s head. Loki’s eyes feeling deceivingly wet.

            Loki pulled back and let out a deep breath. Why had he done that? He shoved himself onto his feet and paced away.

            Peter scrambled to his feet and, no sooner than Loki had reached maybe five steps away, the boy wrapped his arms around Loki’s middle and froze him motionless.

            “I’m sorry,” Peter whispered.

            Loki untangled himself with another sigh. “No,” he corrected. “I’m sorry. That’s my apology.”

            Peter’s laugh was broken. “That’s not how you apologize. Hah. Thanks anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've gotten such wonderful feedback from this adventure, thank you all so much! I work a lot, so I won't make promises on when I update. I really want to update at least once a week though. I've plotted out the rest of the fic so I hope you all stick around to watch these two boyos continue on.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and any feedback will be read and cherished!


	5. Wrow

_…_

_My friends grew up, they never get drunk_   
_They never wanna hang out late_   
_They're gonna get jobs, they're gonna pay bills_   
_They're gonna get old and gray_   
_I'll never do that, I wanna stay young_   
_Don't wanna fit in, I wanna have fun_   
_So if that's okay, I don't think I'm ever gonna act my age_

            Peter Parker rolled over in his bed and fumbled under his pillow for his singing cell-phone only to realize the bouncing words of Hoodie Allen were popping off from below his bed in the crack between the wall and his mattress.

            “Ah, man,” he mumbled, eyes half open and hand shoved deep into the crevice of lost electronics. He patted back and forth until his fingers found the charger cord, then followed it to the hanging, singing cell.

            Peter’s eyes squinted open, blurry without his glasses on even with the phone so close to his face. He swiped at the screen a half dozen times before the phone finally shut up.

            “Peter!” Aunt May yelled from the kitchen. “Hurry up or you won’t have time to eat breakfast!”

            He hollered back something like an affirmative. Sure, yeah, whatever.

            “That didn’t sound like a ‘thank you’ to me!” Aunt May called again.

            Peter grabbed his glasses, rolled back over in bed until he had tumbled onto the floor. Head still directed to his millennium falcon rug, he yelled, “Thank you, Aunt May!” In the kitchen he heard something that sounded suspiciously like ‘you’re damn straight.’          Peter managed a smile through his exhaustion and pulled himself to his feet to head to the bathroom.

            The bathroom door didn’t budge under his hand and Peter groaned. He pressed his forehead into the door frame and knocked a few more times.

            “C’mooooon,” he groaned. “I’m gonna be laaaate.”

            The door opened, Uncle Ben’s bright face on the other side. “Maybe if you got into the habit of waking up more than ten minutes before getting on the bus—”

            “But I didn’t,” Peter huffed. He moved to push his way into the bathroom only for Uncle Ben to stand in front of him. “Uncle Beeeeeeeeeeeen.” He swatted helplessly at Ben’s shoulder.

            “What is it, Peteeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer?” Uncle Ben whined back.

            “You know that bus driver doesn’t wait for anybody!” Peter frowned at him. “You’re jeopardizing my education, y’know.”

            Ben’s face morphed into a sturgeon’s frown of consideration as he nodded. “True, true. I was thinking that wouldn’t be a problem today, though.”

            Peter frowned back at him. “And why not?”

            “I was thinking you and I take the day off.” Uncle Ben leaned forward in conspiracy. “I told your Aunt I’d take you to school today, but I think the Stark Expo is a much cooler way to spend our day. Don’t you?”

            Peter gasped. He had gone years before, had even met Iron Man when the crazy robots had gotten loose. Aunt May had flipped, but Uncle Ben had slapped a hand on Peter’s shoulder and said, ‘Oh man, we have a real super hero in our midst!’

            Peter’s eyes had become dinner plates behind his coke bottle glasses. A real super hero.

            “You’re for real!?” Peter nearly yelped.

            “What was that?” Aunt May hollered again.

            “Nothing!” the two boys said together. Uncle Ben pulled Peter close by the shoulder.

            “Hurry up and get dressed. I have the tickets already and everything, kiddo.”

            Peter engulfed Ben in a hug that Ben could easily escape from, but he let himself get squeezed by his nephew’s noodle arms anyway. “Thank you so so so so so much, Uncle Ben!” he whispered as loud as he could. Ben patted his shoulder.

            “It’s the least I could do,” he laughed. “Now, hurry up, alright?”

            Peter rushed into the bathroom, took a shower just long enough to wet his hair and rub himself down. He nearly slipped out of the tub when he jumped out to brush his teeth. He survived though, sliding on wood floors and still dripping as he bolted back to his bedroom to put on the old Stark Expo shirt Uncle Ben had bought him for posterity. He shoved it over his shoulders, brushed his hair back, and then hopped into a pair of jeans he was pretty sure were clean. He toe-stepped into his sneakers and then ran back to the kitchen.

            “We gotta hurry, Uncle Ben,” Peter told him, not the best at lying but pretty good at being awkwardly panicked. Lucky for him, that looked a lot like his excitement. Peter shoved a piece of bacon in his mouth and then devoured a piece of toast. “I have a test this morning!”

            Uncle Ben chugged the rest of his mug of coffee and stepped to his feet. “You heard the boy.” He kissed Aunt May and she giggled, giving his butt a pat as he turned away.

            “Oh, come on, guys!” Peter groaned.

            “We better watch it,” Uncle Ben advised Aunt May with usual mischievousness. “Otherwise we might have to give him The Talk sooner than we expected.”

            “I’m fifteen!” Peter snipped. As if that would take away the bright red flush of his cheeks. “I know what sex is! I- I just don’t want to see it in the freaking kitchen! I eat in here!”

            “Awe, we broke him,” Aunt May cooed.

            “I’m leaving!” Peter grabbed another piece of toast and hurried out of the apartment before the two could say more.

            “Oops! I better make sure he doesn’t get lost!” Peter could hear Uncle Ben say behind him. He tailed out after Peter and grinned. “Let’s go, kiddo.”

            “I heard Tony Stark invented a bunch of new suits,” Peter began to babble to his uncle. “Like, he’s got a bunch of stuff for the Avengers now. Like Captain America’s shield is real updated and has the ability to autorecall to his arm! How cool is that!”

            “Pretty cool,” Uncle Ben replied patiently.

            “And the Black Widow has these sting things that use the repulsor tech he made and—Uncle _Ben_!” Peter gasped.

            Ben raised his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

            “You think he’ll have the Avengers there?!” Before Uncle Ben could continue, Peter laughed. “Oh man, that’d be so freaking awesome! Like, last time, he flew in and did that cool show but what if this time, he comes in with the whole team—OH MY GOD UNCLE BEN! The _Hulk_ could be there!”

            Uncle Ben laughed. “He could be!”

            Peter grabbed his uncle in a side hug. “This is so cool! Thank you so so much!”

            “You’re gonna be thanking me all day, aren’t you?”

            Peter thanked him again on the subway. He thanked him in front of the Expo arena. He thanked him when he bought Peter a mini repulsor arm shaped mug and then again for the new t-shirt. He was nearly finished with his Captain America rocket pop when Ben put his hand on his shoulder.

            “I think our seats are this way for the show.”

            Peter nodded and blindly followed after his uncle, his eyes glued on all the tech around him. All the ways Tony Stark had developed the new world. He was just… So cool!

            Life had always been good, but today was perfect.

            It wasn’t until Peter noted how quiet the expo had gotten that he realized Uncle Ben had been flanked by two security guards that were now guiding them further away from the hubbub. Peter watched the larger men, confused, but Uncle Ben seemed unbothered. Peter figured maybe they just had really good seats. Maybe this was just how they did it in a Post-Avengers world.

            They entered a small suite, something like out of movie filled with tons of goodies and swag. Peter looked around the room, definitely not an auditorium, and leaned in to whisper to Uncle Ben, “Hey, where are we?”

            “It’s kind of like my trailer,” a voice said from behind him.

            Peter whipped around, stumbled backwards, and fell to the floor with a scream. Above him, now wearing a huge grin that reached up under the edges of his designer sunglasses, was Tony Stark.

            He wore a suit that looked like it could pay for an entire lifetime subway pass and more, with shoes that shined as bright as his mega-watt billionaire smile. Peter opened his mouth again, yelped again, and then started laughing in near hysterics.

            “You y-you y-you y-y-y-y-”

            Uncle Ben laughed, “Peter, take a breath.”

            “It’s alright,” Tony chuckled. “This happens.”

            “That’s Tony Stark!” Remembering himself, Peter pushed himself to his feet and pointed, then rubbed his hands against his shirt, then took the deepest breath he could manage. “Oh God, I think I’m gonna have an asthma attack,” he wheezed. “I-I I mean. I mean uhm. I uh. Y-you’re. Uhm. You’re Tony St-stark.”

            Tony nodded. “I am, I am.” He motioned to the couch. “You want to take a seat there, grasshopper?”

            “Grasshopper?” Peter balked and turned to Uncle Ben who had already taken his seat on the couch. Peter nearly fell into the cushions. “Oh wow this couch is super cool. I mean. It’s a couch. It’s just uhm. Really comfy.” He turned to Ben. “Not that our couch isn’t! I love our couch!”

            “Take a breath, kid,” Tony said. “I don’t want to have to call an ambulance. It’d look bad.”

            “Right.” Peter nodded dumbly. “Right. Sorry. Sorry. I’m just uh. I’m a big fan.”

            “I remember.” Tony smiled. “You were at the last expo. You shot that droid for me. Good work, kid.”

            Peter could feel his cheeks heating up. He had to look like a pikachu, two bright red circles like apples where his cheeks should have been. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He turned to Uncle Ben again. “Did y-you do this?” he asked.

            “You wanted to work with him,” Uncle Ben said.

            “Wh-what?!”

            Tony reached over and slapped a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “You’re a smart kid. You know that? Of course you do.” He grinned and took off his sunglasses. “We need more brains like you out there. I got money, you got talent. I think it’s a good pairing. How about you?”

            It was nearly impossible not to focus on Tony’s bright smile, his enthusiastic offer, and the way Peter’s heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to pop out of his chest. Nearly impossible if not for some kind of shadow lingering in the corner of the room. Peter glanced that way and squinted, swore he saw a tall figure clad in black, but shook his head away.

            “No?” Tony and Ben said in unison.

            “No! N-no no!” Peter shook his head again. “I mean! I mean of course I want to work with you! Oh my God, you’re Tony St—I mean, Mr. Stark! I can’t—This is so much I’m gonna barf.”

            Uncle Ben sighed. “ _Peter_.”

            “It’s not biggie. I’ve got other suits,” Tony assured. “One that’s red and gold. You wanna see it?”

            “Oh my God—” Peter grabbed a trashcan, leaned over, and puked into it.

            Tony patted his back lightly. “I love the youth,” Peter could hear him say to Uncle Ben. “They get so excited. Like puppies, but they grow up and lead the world.”

           

            Uncle Ben gave Peter and Tony their space when Tony took them to another office where his gear was. He was shockingly funny and chill for a billionaire superhero. Tony waited patiently for Peter to figure out his questions as he stumbled through them as gracelessly as a newborn faun. Tony teased him for the scientific fumbles, but not for the bright-eyed excitement, or when he stuttered a bit too much. Every once and a while Peter would glance back to Uncle Ben to see if he was doing alright and Ben would be grinning from ear to ear.

            And then he’d see that figure again and Peter would look down at the ground, pretend to clean his glasses, and wait until he could focus on the rightness of this moment. Finally meeting one of his heroes.

            It was perfect… Right?

            In the reflection of one of Tony’s suits, Peter saw a hand mark on his throat, heavy and raw, and felt his chest empty out.

            This wasn’t real.

            None of this was real.

            Peter reached his hand up to his neck where the mark dwarfed his fingers, and looked at Tony and Ben who kept talking like a scripted television series. The glasses fogged his vision, so Peter took them off to see clearly again. His muscles larger, stronger, and the world fading away around him.

            Another trick.

            Damnit, Loki.

            Peter grabbed his throat and squeezed until everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki: Peter loves when I make him see things that aren't real  
> Peter: I really don't  
> Loki: I can't wait to make Peter see more things that aren't real  
> Peter: oh my god bitch
> 
> Comment if you like or if you suffered.


	6. Mmm Watcha Saaay MMM THAT YOU ONLY MEANT WELL MMMM WELL OF COURSE YOU DID

 

            Peter could not leave Hel. Not without a body to return to.

            And Loki… Well, what was there worth returning for?

            If Thor wasn’t gone yet, he likely would be soon. Thanos had recovered all the stones and likely wouldn’t take kindly to Loki coming back for all his effort. Loki’s body remembered even in death all the marks of Thanos’s cold action. He would not seek it out if he had a choice.

            He stayed kneeling over Peter’s unconscious body, fingers tapping along his temple as he outfitted his mind with the oasis. There was so much laughter, so much joy, that Peter smiled outwardly even while in the world of the dream.

            This was why they had been brought together—for Loki to give him the life he should have had. No responsibility for the boy, Peter didn’t need the world on his shoulders. He could let his uncle handle that. Stark could mentor him, let him live an entire life of building with that imaginative bright intellect of his.

            That’s what Loki would do. This would be his penance.

            “Oh, Loki.” A familiar voice of disappointment. _Great._ “What are you doing?”

            Loki shut his eyes and bent closer to the boy’s head. “I need to concentrate. I have no time for phantoms.”

            The All-father sighed. “I may have been a phantom in my death, but not in yours.”

            “You’re in Valhalla,” Loki mumbled. “And I am here. In Hel. You are a phantom.”

            “Do you truly believe you and this boy share a fate in Hel?” Odin moved from his place to sit beside his son. “Surely you’ve been with him long enough to know you are not here as a kindred spirit.”

            Loki shut his eyes tighter. “You truly are persistent, All-father. Normally people stop nagging after death.”

            “You shared a much different sentiment when you and I last spoke.” Loki kept his eyes shut. Refused to acknowledge that Odin could be here. “My son. You will not argue this boy’s worth.”

            A hand landed on Loki’s shoulder. He shrugged it off.

            “Funny words from a king who thought so little of the mortals in his life. Who used their home as a time-out for his unruly children while they threw tantrums.”

            “Tis indeed hilarious.”

            Loki’s eyes shot open and he stared at Odin. Odin wore a light smile, his head tilted almost with a whimsical energy.

            “What do you see in the boy?”

            “Nothing,” Loki spat. He turned his attention back to Peter, focused on his hold on his mind. Peter’s world was so bright, so exploratory, it took all Loki’s focus to keep it authentic. “He’s nothing.”

            “Is he?” asked Odin.

            “He’s a mortal infant. Nothing special.”

            “For somebody so hurt by lies, you love to tell them. It comes as easy as breathing.” Odin leaned back and rested his weight on his hands. “He reminds me of you, in many ways.”

            Loki snorted to cover up the wince. Peter could not be further from him if he tried. “We’re both dead?”

            “Always so funny.” Odin chuckled. “Always thinking of others, you two. Of their expectations. He rose to them, or at least tried to, and so did you. A villain you called yourself, a monster you became.”

            “I was only called a monster because being called a son had grown too tiresome,” Loki spat.

            “I thought we were beyond this.”

            “We are. You are dead. I am dead. Peter is dead. The only unfairness is that he must be here with me. The only thing I can grant him is a rewritten world. If that’s what the fates will, then I fulfill it.”

            At Odin’s silence, Loki felt his nerves prickle. He eased himself straight and finally looked back at him. Odin shut his one eye, head tilted towards the never-ending sky, and hummed.

            “You could return,” Odin reminded. “This is not the only choice left to you.”

            “Thanos is still alive. I would only return as I had before to be killed all over again.” Then, with a twisted grin. “He does not like me much.”

            Odin rested his hand on Loki’s shoulder again. This time Loki let it settle there.

            “Only if you go alone.”

            “The child’s body is gone, father!” Loki yelled, the words nearly choking on his tongue. His throat still so raw. “He has nothing to go back to! He is stuck here. I can do nothing for him, nothing like I can for myself. I cannot help him! Other than this! Just a trickster, right? What else can a trickster be meant to do for him!? If we are meant to be here together, it must be for this!”

            Odin smiled, melancholy fading in his old face. “Oh, Loki,” he murmured, “A sorcerer as skilled as you knows how a soul can exist in more than one body. I should not have to teach you the elements of your illusions. Surely your mother did that well enough for the both of us.”

            “Well, that’s helpful.” Loki laughed. It sounded false even to his own ears. “Except for there isn’t more than one body. There is only one.”

            “And?”

            Peter stirred under his hand.

            “Damnit!” Loki forced his attention back to the boy. He was listening to the words of his mentor, Stark, like an eager pup. Loki shook his head. “I have no time for riddles, All-father.”

            “You would spend all eternity in his head,” Odin observed. “This human boy.”

            “If that is my penance, then I shall serve it.”

            “Then you might as well both be alive.”

            When Loki looked to his side, Odin had left once more. So convenient, as always, his presence in Loki’s life. Peter’s body became restless under his hand and the images went black. Peter grabbed for his throat in a gasp of movement and squeezed.

            “No!” Loki snatched Peter’s palm into his and pulled it back. In that movement, Peter’s other hand reached up and grabbed Loki’s neck in his small palm. He threw Loki back onto the ground and sat on top of him, eyes wide and mouth panting for air.

            Loki felt himself shaking, the fingers still curled around his windpipe even as Peter tried to gather his bearings. It came all at once and Peter rolled back off Loki as quick as he could while the god tried to remember how to breathe.

            “Oh god, oh no, Mr. L-loki I’m so sorry.” Peter’s hands fluttered over his neck and Loki scrambled up, his own palms reaching up to tug at the leather that limited his lungs. “It’s okay oh it’s okay M-mr. Loki,” Peter was still trying. “I r-really sorry. I just. I just forgot. I forg-got.”

            Peter’s hand lowered to the ground, the white of the sand churning beneath them. “I forgot… I was…” He frowned at him. “What did you do?”

            Loki turned his head away from the boy.

            “You cannot return to your body, it’s no longer there. I thought to offer you an oasis so you might be able to live out your path had you not been…” He shrugged. “PTSD or whatever it was that you said gave you the weight of heroism. So that you could go back, like you wished to.”

            Peter went uncharacteristically quiet. Loki bit his lip and scowled. “What?” He snapped. When he finally turned back, Peter had gone slack jawed and wide eyed. “Have I made another dick move?”

            “That’s just… Really thoughtful, Mr. Loki.” Peter’s grin was crooked. “I mean… I don’t want to be stuck here, but… Wait, would you have to be here to do that? Forever, I mean?”

            Loki shrugged. “I have done enough things to garner far worse punishments.”

            “Awh,” Peter sat up. “Thanks, Mr. Loki.”

            Loki stood rashly, his feet nearly slipping out from under him. He straightened up. “I thought you would not agree to it.”

            “Well, no, but you meant well. That’s progress.” Peter popped to his feet. “Mr. Loki, there has to be some way to get back. I mean, you’re not saying you’ve given up, have you?”

            Peter stared at him, all wide brown eyes and clenched hands at his sides. Loki took a deep breath and looked up at the sky to curse his father.

            “Mr. Loki?”

            “There is a way,” Loki said. “But I do not think you will like it.”

            Peter rolled his eyes. “You assume a lot of stuff! You don’t know until you ask, right? You gotta ask me! I’m always up for an adventure!”

            Loki raised his eyebrows. “Are you?”

            Peter considered it. “Well… Mostly. I mean, I probably shouldn’t be saying I’m up for anything. Ned’s shown me some weird stuff I know I don’t want to do.” He went unspeakably red. “Not that it has anything to do with you! I-i-i-its uhm just really weird Earth stuff is a-all.”

            “I know what sex is, Peter, and I promise it’s nothing like that. You’re not exactly my type.” Loki used his driest tone, knowing that it would make Peter turn so red he looked like his precious Stark’s metal suit.

            It did. “WELL, WHATEVER!” Peter threw his arms in the air. “I want to go back and help! That that’s what I want, y’know!? If my only options are keeping you here making me watch fake movies in my head and going back to earth as a dog, then I’d rather be a dog! At least then I have a chance to help! I’ll bit Thanos’ leg or something!”

            “I was thinking you looked rather like a young dog at times,” Loki murmured.

            The road ahead of them had twisted, a horizon making itself known.

             “Come along, Peter. A path has opened for us after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so nice, giving you three updates in one day!! It's totally not because I'm avoiding doing paperwork or anything. I also really hate leaving things on emotional cliff hangers because I don't want you all to think Loki was being purposely mean, just accidentally mean. He has a hard time with prosocial behaviors okay but he's trying his very best. I'm making a kickstarter to get him into some occupational therapy to help him with these limitations.
> 
> Anyway SMASH that comment button if you like what you see. SMASH it.


	7. I love you, Mr. Stark. I ain't never gonna stop loving you, Mr. Staaaark

 

            After they followed the horizon to the finally white light, Peter awoke in the throes of space, his throat aching like someone had put a heavy weight around his spine and let him hang from it for eternity. He gasped, tried to reach his hand up, only to find it was already there. Already touching the skin.

            “What—”

            His own word in Loki’s voice, cut off by Loki’s gasping, his panic.

            He remembered the god’s warning. _There is no body for_ you.

            The only body they had was Loki’s.

            Peter looked through Loki’s eyes out into the stars, then down as Loki curled into himself from the agonizing return. A soft sting, like an electric shock through a rubber glove, coiled into Peter’s being—his soul, he realized distantly. His mouth could not open—Loki’s mouth would not open to his command.

            Peter used all his energy to think.

            _“Mr. Loki?”_ he asked in the echoes of the god’s head. _“Mr. Loki, where are we?”_

            Loki held his stomach, uncurled on the meteor, and wretched into the stone. In the peripheral of Loki’s panic, Peter spotted corpses clad in similar leathers and armor. He remembered Tony’s words, that Asgard had fallen, and hadn’t truly considered what it had meant until that moment.

            Like sleep paralysis, unable to control his body, Peter felt his anxiety rocket upwards. As his heart beat fast like a rabbit, Loki’s breath sped up. Their vision went black and Peter could feel Loki’s body seize with hyperventilation.

            “P-please s-stop,” Loki begged. “Ple-ease, c-calm d-down. Pe-eter. I c-cannot. I c-c-c-”

            Peter’s panic was Loki’s panic and Loki couldn’t breathe from it.

            His therapist had taught him deep breathing, running in place, counting ceiling tiles, tapping fingers, counting seconds, counting counting counting, remembering a song, thinking of friends. He had to use a grounding technique.

            Peter thought hard to make Loki’s mouth form the words. Seconds passed into minutes of Loki’s breathing hiccupping into the stone and Peter realized with great shame his young heart had dissolved the god into sobs.

            Then, in a sudden heap of relief, Loki’s voice filled the air in those shattered breaths.

            “One… Mississippi… Two… M-Mississ-ss-ss.” Loki curled heavier into the stone again.

 _“Come on, Mr. Loki,”_ Peter pleaded _. “You can do it. It’ll be okay.”_

“M-Mississippi… T-three…” Loki took another breath and let it out. His lips churned into a sneer. “W-what is… What is M-Mississippi?”

            Peter’s laugh cut off Loki’s confusion, a sudden and unusual sound in Loki’s normally dry throat that dissolved into coughs. Peter continued counting, sometimes Loki speaking with him and sometimes Loki timing his breath to the in and outs of the technique. As they grounded themselves, Peter felt himself flexing in the strange form, noting the irregularities of a body that was not only not superhuman, but not human at all.

            Loki was, for one, bigger than Peter. Taller, leaner, longer. More hair in places Peter wasn’t used to, more defined with an ancientness that felt like he was inhibiting a statue from before the creation of the world. Parts of him ached—the lower abdomen, his throat, most notably—but more present than that was the unspeakable tightness in his bones. The word that came to mind was Hypervigilant.

            As if confirming Peter’s thoughts, Loki hissed out a breath. “I hear your ramblings still,” he murmured to the air.

            _“Sorry!”_ Peter’s boyish voice sounded in their head. _“I’m sorry! Mr. Loki, what did you do? What are we doing?”_

            Loki unraveled himself, rolled over so he was sitting on his—their—backside.

            “There were no other bodies here to send you to… For now.” Loki’s hand reached up to his leathers, these untouched as they had been in death. Loki ripped open the collar and tossed it aside. His long fingers tapped along some sort of inner mana that rippled through their form and soothed the pain in Loki’s body. “So… We travel together until I can find a suitable vessel for you.”

            _“Like carpooling?”_

             Loki paused, then laughed. “Oh. These are the things you mean. Interesting. I-Interesting.” He coughed a few more times.

            Incredibly, for a man who laughed, Peter felt very little happiness in their shared chest. Just a deep, resounding tension. Loki wiped away his tears and finally stood.

            “Do not reach for the limbs,” he ordered. “Just rest. I will guide us through the hidden paths.”

             The magic, _seidr_ Peter suddenly knew it as, surrounded his soul like a blanket. Peter felt his heart settle with an illogical amount of peace. With a distance he noted the view that Loki was observing. How his gaze focused on this corpse or that corpse. Some had names, _Heimdall_ , and others had titles, _baker, guard, I don’t know’s_. Each one totaled itself up into a further body-count raised by Titan’s brash hand.

 

            _“Mr. Loki,”_ Peter asked sleepily. _“Are you going to be okay?”_

            Loki shook his head and tore his attention away from the graveyard. “Of course,” he answered. With a flourish of his hand, Loki tore into the fabric of space where a crack already existed. Loki stepped through, a limp to each step, until he reached the ever-twisting curls of the galaxy pathways.

            As Loki walked, Peter listened to the monologue of thoughts. Muffled, like he was listening from another room, walls separating the emotion from the words. He caught flashes of words like ‘boy’ and ‘Thanos’ and ‘Thor’.

            ‘Thor’ ‘Thor’ ‘Thor’ ‘Thor’ growing louder and louder as Loki walked the paths.

            _“Where are we going, Mr. Loki?”_

            A few moments passed before Loki replied. Almost as though he had been pointedly ignoring the presence of Peter’s soul inside his body.

            “Earth has created bodies with far less than what we have. We will go there.”

            The words felt… false.

            _“I don’t think so.”_ Peter felt the frown in his own thoughts.

            “Peter,” Loki murmured. “Do not concern yourself with my actions. We’ll return you to your own form soon enough.”

            _“… This wasn’t the plan, was it?”_

            Loki snorted outright and let out a twisted laugh. Though he said nothing, the thoughts were crystal clear.

            _“I was sure there might be a corpse in good enough shape to allow your travel. Evidently not.”_

_“That’s not cool.”_

_“I hardly think we’re in a place to be cool.”_

_“You could at least try.”_

_“I do very little other than try. It’s how I get into so many predicaments.”_

_“I thought it was because you just do stuff and then expect other people to be cool with it, even though it’s kind of mean and rude.”_

_“Are you implying something, boy?”_

_“Taking somebody’s corpse is mean, Mr. Loki.”_

_“It isn’t as if they’re using it.”_

Loki huffed out a heavy breath. “I told you to rest,” he spoke aloud. “No more of this.”

            The pathways were dark, like Loki walked on an invisible platform with the help of a Legend of Zelda lens of truth. He walked without hesitation, his steps practiced, his energy pulsating within their body with a stinking presence. Far different from the seidr that had healed his wound.

            _Dark magic_ came to mind and Peter knew, not knowing how he knew, that this was malice leading them forward. Something Loki couldn’t use when Thor was around, when Thanos had appeared, but now had no other choice.

            Loki’s dark conjuring reached outwards from the vessel, out into the universe and searching for something. Peter felt his soul peaking out, tried to ease himself outwards while squinting for a view on a metaphysical landscape.

            Something red and gold…

            Peter reached out with the energy, wrapped his soul with the dark conjuring and making Loki stumble.

            _“Mr. Stark?”_ Peter called out.

            The red curled like smoke, leaving a gold pulsating heart in its place that cleared before them.

            “Peter, _no_.”

            Peter grabbed the golden heart like a life preserver. Loki winced, let out a scream of pain as the dark energy grabbed hold of the golden heart and sent them propelling forward off the path Loki had been treading until Loki’s feet fell out from under them. He screeched like a wounded animal, like the void was tearing them in two. Loki’s soul taking the brunt of the pain while Peter dragged them towards that familiar energy until the two toppled through another tear in the universe.

            They landed somehow on every sharp edge of Loki’s bones, on the elbows and the knees, until he was rolling to a stop and slamming into a wall that crumbled under the energy. In the black of Loki’s closed eyes, his wheezing sounded under the beeping of hundreds of machines malfunctioning.

            “Whoawoaowoa!”

            With Loki’s soul crippled, something black curling around their shared vessel inside like a dissipating smoke, Peter opened their shared body’s eyes to see if he was truly there.

            Tony Stark, grey in the temples, face scarred, his repulsor ray aimed and locked on Peter’s face.

            “Long time no see, Scar. I heard you were dead. So much for that, huh?” Tony smiled, but his eyes refused to wrinkle. “Never sticks where it ought to, I’m finding out.”

            “Mr. Stark,” Peter shoved himself to his ( _Loki’s_ ) feet.

            The gauntlet raised, a familiar zing of power coming to Tony’s aid. “So polite,” he snarled. “Did Thanos send you?”

            “Mr. Stark,” Peter tried again. “Please. It’s me! It’s Peter!” He reached forward.

            Tony shot the repulsor ray at the floor in front of Peter’s feet.

            Loki sounded like a whisper in his own head. _“Peter, he won’t take you as me. Please, don’t.”_

            “Stand back!” Tony yelled. “What kind of cruel bastard do you think—” Peter winced at the sheer hatred. “How dare you come in here—How dare you!”

            “Mr. Stark!” Peter held his hands out and open. “Mr. Stark, stop! He helped me! He helped me!”

            “Who?” Tony shoved his hand out again. “WHO!?”

            “Mr. Loki did!” Peter kept his head down, arms as high as he could manage. “He helped me come back. I didn’t—I don’t have my own body anymore—we need to find a new one. This was the only way! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please, don’t hurt us!”

            Eyes directed to the ground, Peter could only hear the power down as Tony considered him.

            “Prove it,” he dared.

            Peter lifted his head and stared at him. The vision of Tony with the gauntlet still ready, but lowered, clouded with Peter's tears.

            “I-I… I don’t… I don’t know h-how,” Peter whispered. “I’m s-sorry… I d-don’t know how t-to…” He felt his lip crumbling. “I missed y-you.”

            The gauntlet faded into Tony’s reactor, the same nanotech as when they fought Thanos. He watched, eyes wide as his brain struggled against the information in front of him. Peter was struck suddenly with how very small Tony was in comparison to Loki. He had never been able to look down at him like this before.

            “Please… No…” Tony whispered. “You gotta be kidding me, kid.”

            “Mr. Stark?” Peter whimpered. “You do believe me, right?”

            Tony’s gaze kept darting up and down Loki’s form. His eyes hovered over his neck, the torn leather, the dirt and blood. Peter gasped for air and Tony rocketed back to making eye contact.

            “Please,” Peter begged.

            Tony’s shoulders relaxing out of that battle stance was all it took. Peter crossed the ground between them, the pain in the borrowed body adding to the shakiness of his breaths as he pulled Tony into a hug. Tony stiffened as Peter grabbed at his back like he had back on Thanos’s planet. It was so wrong how Peter could wrap his arms completely around him, how Tony could so easily be suffocated against the leathers and armor.

            “I’m so sorry I’m s-s-so sorry-y.”

            As if he could say it enough that Tony might relax and return his hold. Tony patted his back, hands shaking. When Peter pulled away, he noted how Tony breathed so very shallowly. His eyes bugged out like they might pop out from his skull.

            “Mr. Stark?” Peter tried again.

            Tony’s hand rested on his left arm, clenching and unclenching as he worked his way backwards.

            “Is Loki in there too?”           

            “He is—I mean, he was.” Peter crossed his arms over his chest to hold his own torso. “He got hurt. I-I… Oh, God, Mr. Stark, I think I did it. I think I hurt him. I saw you and I just. I wanted to know you were okay. Y-you’re okay, right?”

            Tony pursed his lips. “Yeah… Yeah, I’m okay, kid.” He stumbled back to take a seat against one of his many cars. Staring forward at nothing, Tony shook his head.

            “If anybody tries to tell you karma isn’t real, kid,” he sighed, “then you just point them to me.”

            Tony buried his face in his hands and groaned.

            “… Mr. Stark?”

            “Why couldn’t you run into David Bowie, huh?” Tony complained. “Or Merle Haggard. I don’t know. Somebody who didn’t try to rule the Earth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said that Tony wouldn't be in this fic, but I lied because listen he's helpful and I love him also. I love everybody so much.


	8. A Bathbomb Video but it's Loki Being Attacked with Dark Magic

 

              There was a reason Loki hadn’t used the dark magic before when Thanos’s warship bore down on them. It was the same reason Loki hadn’t used it to escape Hela, or beat Earth’s mighty defenders during his own attack.

            Loki didn’t exactly, truthfully, know what he was doing.

            That hadn’t made much of a different in the past either, but one thing Loki hadn’t prepared for—and he really should have known better at this point—was the sheer power of Peter’s short-sighted youth, and his obsession for others.

            As soon as Peter’s mind focused in on Stark, Loki hadn’t stood a chance.

            The magic, which Loki had been doling out with the fiercest of concentration, lashed backwards like popping grease and sent him toppling backwards into his own body. Had he been alone, he probably would have physically dropped until recomposing himself.

            In this case, Peter took the reins.

            Loki was reminded of Banner and his beastly alter-ego, how they fought so separately for control over the same body. He swallowed back a vague discomfort at the idea of losing control to Peter every time he got excited about something. Loki would never see the light of day again.

            The dark magic twisted around his soul, crippled his seidr, until he felt himself fading. Loki clawed himself back up, thinking strongly of living, of seeing Thor again, of seeing Thanos dead, of just surviving and escaping the alternative of whatever wasn’t Valhalla.

            “Mr. Stark, it’s Peter!” Loki heard the boy say, and he begged him not to.

            When Tony Stark let himself be held, Loki nearly suffocated from the comfort it gave Peter. The warmth of being loved.

            Loki tried to pretend it was for him, tried to ignore the tenseness of Stark’s shoulders or the sarcastic sniping of finding someone else in the limbo.

            He tried to call to Peter. He reached his hand out, but nothing came of it. When he said help, nothing sounded in the mind.

            All he knew was, when he faded, Peter did not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short chapter because the next one is a very very long chapter. If I don't upload it before Thursday, it'll be up after the weekend because this bitch!! is going to vegas!!! Loki might be miserable but I sure ain't. 
> 
> (I'm going to reply to all your comments soon!! I'm just getting over a cold. Thank you guys always for reading!!)


	9. [Marlin voice] HAS ANYONE SEEN MY LOKI??

 

            Tony was busy. He had been busy before, would always be busy. Peter knew that Tony Stark never knew a life that didn’t involve constantly rocketing thoughts and the white noise of progress.

            That being said, Peter feared the busyness. The moment when Tony finished taking Peter’s vitals and left the room to go off to one of his hundreds of other responsibilities.

            Tony took his heart beat, drew blood, looked over the wounded neck and quietly bandaged it up.

            “Mr. Stark?” Peter inquired, careful not to jostle Tony’s hands. Tony glanced up at him.

            “You’re not gonna… Y’know…” He frowned, not sure what he even wanted from him.

            Tony let out a deep breath.

            “Kid… We’ve got other things in motion. I can’t… You can stay here, stay safe, and I’ll call Thor, but…” He let out another breath, shorter this time. “I can’t balance it all with you in the room, Pete,” he finally said.

            “I don’t--…”

            Tony visibly tensed. Peter couldn’t imagine the feeling of conflict in him, but he could definitely infer it by the way Tony kept dodging eye contact, or by how he kept a separation of arm’s length at the very least in every moment. Even now, as he took the vitals, Tony’s hand had a notable shake to it. Peter didn’t need a spidey sense to know the truth: Tony did not want to spend time with him, not in this body.

            “… Okay,” Peter relented. “Okay. You’re busy. I’m here, though.” He shrugged and accidentally bumped his shoulder into Tony’s hand. Tony pulled back with a jerk and Peter lift his hands, palms open. “Sorry! It’s just… He’s bigger than me. Sorry.”

            Tony nodded tensely and entered the vitals into his trusty tablet. “FRIDAY will keep an eye on you. For now, I just need you to keep low and relax. See if you can get you-know-who to pop out.” He shot Peter a sidelong smirk that seemed a little bitter, even to Peter. “I’d like to have a word with him too.”

            “You’re sounding like a dad,” Peter huffed. “And, besides, you can say his name. Mr. Loki isn’t Voldemort.”

            “Well, I’m just a bit worried he turned my young ward into his horcrux.” Tony set his tablet aside and crossed his arms, hands in pits. “And, until I know for sure that he didn’t, I’m going to err on the side of caution. Sound good?”

            “If anything,” Peter argued, “I turned him into _my_ horcrux.”

            “Don’t care.” Tony uncrossed and waved his hand in the air. “What I know is that you’re here wearing a Loki suit and I really rather you didn’t. Watch TV or something until Thor gets here.”

            Tony left quickly, still on his pathway of near manic energy that left his workroom doors still swinging when he had already crossed into a door four rooms away.

            Peter sat still on the work table before easing off slow. His feet touched almost immediately, and he stepped forward like on stilts, shaky and a bit knock-kneed. Peter stumbled into a work table with a metal topping that reflected his face up to him. He stared into the foreign eyes and waved.

            “Mr. Loki?” he called. “Mr. Loki, I hope you’re okay in there… I’m going to take care of your body until you come out. I promise.”

            Peter loved when ideas came like a blast of air conditioning on a hot day. Sudden, but such a relief.

            “We can watch movies,” Peter decided. He liked the sound of Loki’s voice in his ears, even though the vowels weren’t as tall when he made the body speak—made it feel like Loki was still with him instead of…

            Never mind.

            “And we can have some pizza. How much can you eat? We should get double, just in case.”

            Peter walked out from Tony’s workshop and headed for the guest room he had crashed in once or twice before. The room was outfitted to the brim with electronics, like most everything else Tony owned. As he grabbed a tablet off from the bedside and flipped through a local pizza place’s menu, something stirred inside him. A feeling, deep in his stomach, like something was about to happen.

            “M-mr. Loki?!” Peter jumped to his feet. “Mr. Loki, are you okay?!”

            Peter listened, body tense and heart pounding, until…

            Loki’s stomach growled.

            Peter deflated and fell backwards on the bed, his legs dangling and his hands resting on his stomach. “Mr. Loki… I’m really thankful for what you did for me… You didn’t have to…” He lifted Loki’s hand up and turned it over and again against the light, marking the bareness of muscle on the long digits with something that felt like nausea. “You really didn’t have to… I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t come back. I-- I’m really sorry about not listening to you. I missed Mr. Stark—I mean…”

            Missed insinuated that he didn’t miss Tony anymore, but finding their way back to earth had only been the beginning. Tony wouldn’t go near him. Not like this. It wasn’t the same.

            “It’s not fair!” Peter slammed the hand down on the bed. “I know you did some awful stuff! I’m not an idiot! I’m young, but I’m not a kid!” His vision clouded with tears. His voice cracked. Peter shoved the heels of his hands into his eyes, shocked by the hollowness of Loki’s bone structure. “You didn’t have to help me, but you did! That has to count for something!”

            Peter slammed his hands down on the bed, then again and again.

            “I’m really sorry! I’m really sorry, and I miss you, and I want you to come back out! I don’t like the way Mr. Stark looks at me like this. I don’t like hearing you, but knowing it’s me. I can’t talk like you can. I can’t walk like you can. This feels like stealing. I don’t want to—What kinda friendly neighborhood Spider-man steals bodies?!” His words crumbled into a childish whine. His tears continued to leak, and Peter kicked his legs in the air. “I don’t want to do this like—like—like this!”

            “… Peter?” FRIDAY’s voice sounded from the tablet. “Would you like me to order your pizza for you?”

            Still blubbering, Peter nodded wordlessly, groaned, and grabbed a pillow to bury his face into until the tears stopped.

            “Your order is being made by Teddy,” FRIDAY informed him. “Perhaps you would feel better if you changed and took a shower?”

            Peter whipped the pillow off his face. “Like _this_?!”

            “I’m afraid so.”

            “But—but—but—”

            There was an undeniable greasiness about Loki. Not just his hair, but his entire body, coated in some sort of after-death slime that had frozen in the depths of space. His clothes were torn, dirty from even before Thanos had attacked the Asgardian ship. FRIDAY was right.

            But, damnit, she shouldn’t have said it.

            “Peter?”

            “Alright alright.” Peter rolled onto Loki’s stomach and pushed himself up to his feet with a bit of what was becoming a customary stumble. Peter dragged his feet over to the bathroom and stepped inside.

            The glance at himself in the work-table had been far more kind to Loki’s face than the mirror was. Peter frowned the thin lips and looked him over, hand reaching up to touch the inside of cheek hollows and the angular chin. His hair had gone from slicked back to hanging into a frizzing black halo around his bandaged blue and yellow neck.

            “Mr. Loki,” Peter sighed. “You should go on vacation.”

            He started with the shirt, thinking that would be the easiest part. Underneath the crisscross patterns of Loki’s tunic was a belt that holstered everything tightly to his body. After a few minutes of fumbling and flashbacks to the first time he had unhooked a bra (Britney Scroggins, he remembered, and she had been a little too old and experienced to do anything but laugh at him as he tried his hardest to reach second base), Peter managed to get free of Loki’s shirt, at least.

            “Oh,” Peter breathed out with all his lungs. He gawked at the body looking back at him through the mirror. “Mr. Loki…”

            A massive scar stretched from Loki’s mid-sternum down to the bottom of his rib cage. While the rest of Loki’s skin was pale and marked only by some patches of dark black hair on his chest and under his naval, the scar was a nasty shade of deep purple that puckered up like it had been infected and froze in a septic state. Peter’s stomach bottomed out when he turned and found the scar on Loki’s back, matching in every way except the length—longer. An entry wound.

            “… Friday?”

            “Yes, Peter?”

            “Can you… I don’t know. Dim the lights or something?”

            “How dim?”

            “I don’t know… I just… I just want to take a shower. I don’t want to look at him like this. It feels wrong.”

            “Sure, Peter.” Like Karen, FRIDAY had a way of sounding soft and so pitying all at once. Peter’s chest clenched with thoughts of Aunt May. “I can do that.”

            Taking off the pants was easier than the shirt, but the difficulty heightened when FRIDAY lowered the lights. Still, he was able to maneuver his way into the shower with little issue, and never looked down any more than he had to. Peter used a loofa in the tub to make sure his hands never touched Loki’s bare skin, even though it was his too.

            He shut his eyes as he went through the motions. He nearly started humming, but the sound of Loki’s voice in the echo of the shower, sounding natural and calm, seemed so wrong. Peter stopped and continued through his cleaning. Something pulled away with his fingers when he ran his hand through Loki’s scalp. When Peter held his palm up to the dim light, he found a clump of hair for his trouble.

            He yelped, feet slipped, ass hit the shower floor with a hard thunk.

            “Peter?” FRIDAY called.

            “Is hair supposed to fall out?” Peter squeaked. “Like, a big chunk of hair? From your head?!”

            “It isn’t supposed to, but it can. Large amounts of stress or trauma can impact that.” Then she added, “I can’t imagine how death impacts that as well.”

            “I think Mr. Loki might need therapy, FRIDAY.” Peter shoved himself to his feet and took a deep breath. “Or a friend.” He went back to shampooing his hair and tried very hard not to gag at the clumps of hair that came with his motions.

            “Probably,” FRIDAY conferred. “Aren’t you his friend?”

            “Well, I would say so.” Peter bit his lip. “I don’t think he’s probably very happy with me right now… Since I took over his body. I didn’t mean to!”

            “Of course not.”

            “I saw Mr. Stark and I got excited!”

            “Exactly.”

            “I didn’t know what would happen!”

            “What _did_ happen?”

            “I don’t know. I just… Mr. Loki used this magic and he told me to not do anything while we found our way back, and I just… Thought about Mr. Stark and seeing him again and then… We ended up here and I had control and I haven’t heard anything from Mr. Loki since then.” Something hiccupped in his chest like a sob. “I haven’t heard _anything_. Friday, I’m really worried. W-what if we’re like this forever?”

            “Teddy is on his way with your order. I went ahead and added extra breadsticks.” Leave it to an AI made by Tony Stark to be emotionally avoidant. “What movie would you like to watch when you are finished with your shower?”

            “I don’t know,” Peter sighed. “Surprise me, I guess. It doesn’t matter.” He lifted his chin under the water and stood there, hoping if he pruned enough maybe Loki would come back just to drag him out of the tub.

            He didn’t.

            Peter avoided looking at himself in the mirror until he was done dressing in clothes that Tony had left in the guest room for them. The silhouette was long, a deep color of red that looked weird against Loki’s body. It wasn’t until Peter had dressed fully in the ensemble that he realized why.

            The clothes were right in height, but not in mass. Right in texture, not in color.

            Thor’s clothes.

            Something in Peter’s chest kicked so strong he doubled forward and held his chest. “O-owww.” He rubbed into his sternum. “Wh-… Mr. Loki?” He looked back up into the mirror, through the steam, and waited. Like the face staring back at him, newly clean but still gaunt, might do something he didn’t anticipate.

            Nothing happened.

            Peter sighed and wrapped Loki’s fingers around the edge of the counter. “Mr. Stark is going to get Thor and bring him here. I don’t know if that’s what you want… I don’t know if that’s even you… I hope you’re okay, Mr. Loki.”

            The pizza and movie were ready when Peter shuffled out of the bathroom and settled into the bed. He grabbed the blankets and wrapped himself tight, leaving only one hand free to shove pizza and soda into his mouth. The box was from his favorite local place—Uncle Leo’s Pizza Parlor—and he was relieved when it tasted just as good on Loki’s taste buds as it did on his own.

            “I hoped you picked something happy, FRIDAY,” Peter mumbled. “Life sucks.”

            The water crawled up on screen, accompanied by a soft piano. Peter knew, knew as soon as the little CGI fish began bouncing into frame, that FRIDAY had given him exactly what he wanted. Finding Nemo. A story about coming home.

            When Marlin lifted his only son into his fins again, something churned in his chest. Peter shoved the feeling down with embarrassment that he could be impacted so strongly by a Disney movie. He wasn't a kid anymore, after all. If Loki could see and hear, he didn’t want him knowing _that._

            “Dad?” Nemo said, at the end of the movie. “I don’t hate you.”

            To which Marlin said, “I’m so sorry, Nemo.”

 

            _I could have done it, Father!_

_For you! For all of us!_

_Your birthright was to die._

_I’m a fool I’m a fool._

_My sons._

_I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!_

_Odin, I bid you take your place in the halls of Valhalla, where the brave shall live forever. Nor shall we mourn, but rejoice, for those that have died the glorious death._

            Peter’s chest screamed with pain. He grabbed the remote and paused it swiftly, hand then reaching up to rub into the place over his heart that kept kicking at him in protest. He shut his eyes, choked back the foreign tears of someone else and tried, once more.

            “Mr. Loki?”

            In the recesses of their shared vessel, Peter felt the world fade around him. When he stepped forward, it was as himself—as Peter Parker, still in the Iron Spider armor. Far away from him, coiled on the ground like roadkill… Loki.

            Peter focused, focused with all the power only a fresh shower and two boxes of pizza could give him, and walked in this world until he was by Loki’s side. Peter knelt down and reached for him, only to have something black and wispy snap out at him from Loki’s body like a snake.

            “What the—what the hell?” Peter drew his hand back.

            He reached out again, the black smoke rolling around with each movement with vigilant aggression. Peter scowled. “Screw off.” He flicked at it and the smoke coiled backwards, almost like it’d been shocked.

            “I told you to go away.” Peter swiped at it again. “I don’t have time for your crap.”

            The smoke hissed from all sides, but backed away when Peter moved his hand forward again. He pressed his fingers into Loki’s shoulder and rolled him over until Loki was on his back and uncurled from the fetal position.

            His eyes were shut, tight, his fingers clinging to the nowhere dirt beneath him. This Loki looked young, far younger than the Loki Peter had seen in the mirror hours before. Peter patted his shoulder to no response.

            “Mr. Loki?”

            “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Loki whispered, eyes still shut. “I’m sorry.”

            Peter pulled back, folded his hands together, and watched, helpless.

            “I’m a fool. I’m a monster. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I should have known. I’m sorry.”

            “Known what?” Peter whispered.

            “I knew he would come. I knew, and I brought the tesseract anyway. It’s my fault. It’s my fault. This is my penance. I could have let it burn, and I didn’t. I’m a fool.” Peter noted, with shock, the tears that leaked from Loki’s eyes. The young god gasped and pulled his hand to his mouth. “I shouldn’t have used it to escape Asgard. I should have fallen with it. I died anyway. What was the point? What was the point?”

            Peter rocked onto his heels until he was sitting on his backside. All he could do was watch as Loki crumbled—there and not there all at once.

            “I don’t think you’re a fool, Mr. Loki,” was all he could think to say. “You helped me… I don’t think that was pointless.”

            The black smoke began curling and sifting underneath Loki’s body again. Peter scowled and grabbed his hand. “C’mon, man. You keep getting swallowed up by this… weird smoke monster LOST crap.” He tugged, and Loki unraveled to his feet, shaking. “You can’t sit here. I need your help.”

            Loki stared downwards, sightless, then over and past Peter. His head shook back and forth.

            “I cannot. I cannot.”

            “What do you mean?” Peter tugged his hand harder. “Just walk!”

            Loki’s head shook. “The body is yours. It’s yours. That is the price. That is the price I pay.”

            Peter hissed out a breath. “Dude!” He tugged Loki harder. “Stop making stuff up! Come on!”

            “You’ll learn to use it, like I did—”

            “Mr. Loki! Shut up!” Peter yelled. “You are being really weird and stubborn and stupid right now!” He yanked Loki forward and kicked blindly behind them at the black smoke. “You ever hear the phrase ‘think positive’?!”

            “I--…” Loki frowned at him.

            “You are not going to leave me alone!” Peter ordered. “Not now! Not after everything!”

            Loki stumbled and fell to his knees.

            “Mr. Loki!” Peter grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled fruitlessly. “Come on! Come _on!_ ” He screamed. “Get up!”

            His screaming did nothing. Loki leaned forward until his head was pressed into his knees, his arms pulled around his gut.

            “I’m blaming the stupid dark magic, okay!?” Peter stomped his foot. “And I’m not leaving here until you get over whatever it did to you! You did not walk all the way from the land of the dead with _me_! ME! I talk a _lot_ , Mr. Loki! You didn’t have to do that! But you did it, all the way back here. You came back to life! Twice, if you count me here with you! You didn’t do that to curl up in a ball! You didn’t! I straight up won’t let you!”

            The black smoke came again, still inching closer and closer to Loki. Peter kicked at it, yelled at it, started throwing pieces of his suit at it.

            “See?! I’ll do this forever!” He looked back over his shoulder to Loki, where the body was beginning to fade.

            “No! NO!” Peter ran to Loki, wrapped his arms around his back, and clung. “YOU AREN’T LEAVING! I’M NOT DOING THIS AGAIN!”

            And… just like that, the body solidified back into his grasp. Peter stayed like that, clinging to Loki like he was life itself, too focused on his grip to care that Loki wasn’t returning the hold.

            “You don’t get to leave. You don’t. You don’t,” Peter said into the leathers of Loki’s back. “You’re stuck with me.”

            They stayed in that embrace for a while, Peter’s arms wrapped around Loki like letting go would send him to death and Loki numbly letting him, until Peter’s eyes opened and he found himself back in the room—the TV screen gone black from being paused so long. FRIDAY had dimmed the lights and Peter sunk into the bed to hide his tears from the cameras that inevitably lined every bit of Tony’s home.

             Peter pulled out the tablet, quiet, and worked his fingers across the screen until he was logged into his facebook.

            His hand stopped against his own wishes when he went to type Ned’s name into the search bar.

            “ _Don’t_ ,” a voice said in his head. Peter startled into a smile.

            “Don’t make yourself sad over that,” Loki said in his own voice. “Not until we’ve fixed it, okay?”

            Peter nodded. _“Okay, Mr. Loki.”_

            “I think we’re beyond the honorifics, Peter.”

            Their eyes pricked with Peter’s tears of gratitude. Loki scowled and wiped them away.

            _“I missed you so much, Mr. Loki.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My boss sent me home because I can't give therapy while I'm sick but I CAN write more angst. No update until after next Monday, so hopefully this keeps you all quenched until I'm back from Vegas!


	10. And They Were Roommates [oh my god they were roommates]

 

            Thanos had not been kind to Tony Stark’s frayed nerves, and the way he looked at Loki from across the table only accentuated it. Stark kept one hand wrapped around a black coffee mug—marked by a Spider-Man mask which sent Peter’s thoughts on a super sped monologue filled with ‘oh my god’s and ‘holy shit’s—his other hand tapped on the top of the table. Loki blew lightly on the top of his own mug, sipped the tea that had been arranged for him, and waited.

            Working with words was important, but Loki had learned, very recently in fact, that sometimes shutting up was a better strategy.

            Loki cleared his throat and took another sip.

            _“Where is Ms. Potts?”_ Peter asked, still buzzing in Loki’s head like a constantly whining puppy.

            Loki took another drink and set his mug down. Stark’s eyes locked on the mug and then back to his face.

            “Peter is curious as to where Ms. Potts is,” Loki spoke up.

            “How does that work?” Stark set his mug down. He had yet to take even a sip. “You two have a working conversation in your head? Like schizophrenia? Or do you two leave notes—is it more of a D.I.D. thing?”

            _“Oh,”_ Peter’s voice was a breath in Loki’s head. _“Wow. He really doesn’t like you.”_

            Loki cleared his throat again to stop himself from smiling.

            “A working conversation,” he answered Stark. “He sees what I see. Hears what I hear.” Loki shrugged. “Like carpooling.”

            “Carpooling?” Stark laughed a startled, false, short, sound. “Hah. You do that in Asgard?”

            “Peter told me about it. It seemed like an apt metaphor,” Loki replied. “Not unlike Bruce’s relationship with the hulk.”

            “Ah yeah, I forgot. You brainwashed Bruce too. Awesome.” He scoffed and shoved his mug away. “You and I need to have a talk. Sound good?”

            Since it looked like Loki had very little choice in the matter, he nodded amenably.

            “Sounds wonderful.”

            “I appreciate that you and Thor were on good terms the eightieth time you’ve died, but he’s not here and you aren’t my brother. I get that Thanos was the bastard who freelanced you out to come to Earth and he got you in between some life crises. I do.And I get making some weird vocational decisions after being held captive because of a bald guy’s malicious ego.” Tony motioned to the empty room around them. “I’m trying very hard to keep your access to everybody and everything pretty lax because I don’t trust you. And the idea of Pete being trapped inside your greasy, twisted head makes me want to jump in front of a bus.”

            “Giving new meaning to carpooling,” Loki commented lightly. He took another drink from his mug.

            The olive branch of dark humor had the opposite impact of Loki’s intent. Stark turned it down so fast, he might as well have used his hand and slapped Loki open-palmed across the face.

            “You are not my friend.”

            Stark’s hand gripped the mug, eyes wide and voice loud despite not exclaiming the phrase. It was an authority that reminded Loki of himself when he felt void of any authority at all. The false control of a man with none.

            When Peter’s words came out of Loki’s mouth, they stuttered high with nerves and embarrassment:

            “Mr. Loki, he’s never like this, I promise. He just doesn’t know you like I do.”

            Loki dropped the mug on the floor where it shattered immediately. He slapped his hand over his mouth.

            “Oh, sorry!” Peter said through his fingers.

            “Shut up!” Loki hissed, and, if he lowered his voice to growl it to overcome the embarrassment of Peter’s high, young words coming out of his mouth, then that was just a coincidence.

            He could feel his cheeks turn red as he stared down at the floor firmly, not daring to make eye contact across the table again.

            “Oh my God. Wow. I don’t know if I should laugh or cry,” Stark said.

            “Imagine how I feel.” Loki kept his tone dry and rolled his shoulders back. He stood up and picked up the pieces of the mug off the floor. “I’ve never been gifted at sharing. You saw how well the throne situation went, after all.”

            Stark laughed, genuine this time, and Loki looked back at him. Stark had leaned back in his chair, finally a little less tense than before. He threw his hands in the air.

            “I mean, sure!”

            Loki slowly set the broken mug on the table and eased back into his seat. Stark still laughed and Loki kept his gaze steady and locked on him, feeling like he was missing an important part of the joke.

            _“Mr. Loki,”_ Peter said, _“I don’t think Mr. Stark is okay.”_

            Tony Stark’s hair had turned white at the temples and was crawling further grey, untended, upwards to the top of his head. The circles under his eyes were deep and bruised from sleepless nights. There was the unmistakable shake in his hand, the constant haunted look behind his eyes…

            _“No… But most of us aren’t right now.”_

            “Is Ms. Potts gone?” Loki asked. Peter gasped in his head, having not gone down that path yet.

            Stark shook his head. “No. God. Thank God.” He rested his cheek in his hand. “I don’t know what I’d do. No, she’s still here.”

            “You said my brother is still alive?” Loki inquired.

            Stark nodded.

            “Where is he now?”

            “Him getting here is not the issue. It’s getting him to answer his phone.” Stark stood up and carried himself heavy to the sink. He tossed the rest of his coffee down the drain and washed out his cup. “Your brother is a hard guy to get ahold of when he’s got a mission in his beautiful, stubborn, blond head.”

            He didn’t need to tell Loki. Loki knew the look of determination Thor wore when he had his mind set on something—had seen it since childhood and it was the last thing he’d seen before Thanos wrapped his hand around his throat and choked Loki’s eyesight from him.

            “I don’t know if beautiful is the word I would use.”

            _“I dunno. I heard he’s pretty beautiful.”_

            Loki ignored Peter. “But what mission might that be?”

            “Killing Thanos.” Tony walked over and took the broken pieces of mug off the table and slapped a towel onto the floor to mop up the mess of spilled tea. He tossed the mug into the trash. “But first he has to find him.”

            “And what of the other Avengers?” Loki inquired.

            “The ones that are left?” Tony washed his hands in the sink. “We all take different approaches. Your brother has been storming around the galaxy with his new best friend, T-Rac, trying to catch up to Thanos. I’ll bet he’s even caught him too, but there’s no point.”

            _“What?”_ Peter’s word was a helpless whisper.

            “Because,” Loki continued, “with all the stones, Thanos can just change time as if Thor never approached at all. Can continue to let Thor run around the worlds, distracted, and away from everything. Let the dog chase his own tail until he dies of exhaustion.”

            “So,” Stark smiled, “You _do_ know your brother.”

            “More than I like in most occasions,” Loki replied.

            Stark dried his hands off, chewed on the inside of his cheek, and stared across the kitchen at Loki.

            “The kid hears _everything_?”

            Loki nodded.

            Stark looked him over, his eyes lingering over his bandaged neck with that mechanic’s eye.

            “I’m going to call Bruce in,” he finally decided. “And that should add some clarity to the two souls in a fish bowl bullshit we’ve got going on right now.” Stark turned away and mumbled something that sounded like, “Not that he would know these days,” before leaving the room.

            _“What does that mean?”_ Peter asked. _“Mr. Loki, ask him what he meant by that!”_

            _“I think we need to tread very carefully while your questions have to pass through me. Your friend is a much harder subject to tease since I last saw him.”_

_“Last time you saw him, you were trying to take over the Earth!”_

_“That should tell you how much of his sense of humor he’s lost.”_ Loki leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes. He kicked his feet up onto the opposite chair and spread his legs wide at the knee. _“Last time he offered me a drink.”_

_“… Did you drink with Mr. Stark?”_

_“No, the timing didn’t work.”_

_“Timing of what?”_

            _“I had to throw him out a window.”_

            “Mr. Loki!” the honorific burst out of Loki’s own mouth and sent him nearly rolling out of his chair with laughter.

           

            It wasn't until hours later that the two were forced outside of themselves again. “Peter, Loki,” the surveillance computer said through the ceiling. “You have a—”

            And then it fizzed out with the power, leaving them in the dark.

            Loki rolled off the bed, tossed his book aside so it slammed into the wall, and lifted his hands up in self-defense with daggers at the ready.

            _“Mr. Loki! What is that?! Do you think Thanos came? The power freaked out before! Oh my God, it’s Thanos! We can’t fight him like this! W-what are we going to do?!”_

            “It’s fine,” Loki hissed.

            His own voice answered him. “Not if we’re like this! I want to help! Let me help! I can distract him! We need to get the other body, maybe we find a cat or something somewhere?!”

            “Peter! Calm down!”

            “I just wanna help!”

            “You’re just confusing me!”

            “I’m sorry! I’m just—”

            When Thor opened the door, he did so with a kick of his foot and an axe tossed over his shoulder. The lights in the compound lit up the room around them. “Loki?”

            He was somehow bigger than ever, hair still shorn from Sakar. The eyepatch was gone, and a brown eye in its place. His armor had regained its previous shine, enchanted by the magic of Nidavellir like Mjolnir had once outfitted him.

            Loki wanted to step up, open his hands and say something that didn’t betray the absolute embarrassment of sharing a body with the only person he’d ever met that was more impulsive and naïve than his brother.

            Instead, he scrambled ungracefully to his feet and Peter’s words burst from him.

            “Holy SHIT! You’re so COOL!”

            Thor’s expression melted into confusion. “Loki?”

            Loki shoved his fist into his mouth and turned his back on Thor. Every ounce of gratefulness quickly overcome by the horrifying desire to get swallowed up by the Earth and sent back down to Hel.

            Before Loki could ever be so lucky, he felt the unmistakable hold of Thor’s arm wrapping around his shoulders and turning him around. “Loki? Are—” His smile was bright, confused, and all encompassing. “How does that taste?” He motioned to Loki’s hand and reached to take it out.

            “NO!” Loki yelled through the fist, but it came out sounding more like “MHO!”

            “No need to be silly.” Thor pulled Loki’s hand out by the elbow.

            “You’re so much bigger than I thought you were! Starlord was wrong you really are- SUPER handsome!”

            Loki went to shove his hand back into his mouth, but before he could, Thor grabbed Loki by both elbows with that stupid grin that spread from ear to ear.

            “What else?” Thor asked, the absolute bastard.

            “I swear to all the Norns and the grave of the All-father himself if you keep this up—”

            “But I thought I was handsome?” Thor frowned melodramatically. “You wouldn’t be mean to me, the most handsome, cool guy in the galaxy?”

            Peter burst out again. “Your muscles are the size of my head you could probably bridal carry Mr. Loki all over Earth and never break a sweat!”

            “Mr. Loki?” Thor broke into laughter finally. “So, Stark didn’t lie, you really are half occupied by a human boy?”

            “I’m not a boy!” Loki yanked backwards and slammed his head against the wall as he finally snapped, “Peter, shut _up_!”

            “I like Peter,” Thor decided. “He seems very wise.” He rested his hand on Loki’s shoulder and smiled, soft, at him. “Light company in dark times. You could have found worse.”

            Loki kept his hand locked over his mouth. When Peter finally said a meek, “Oh my God, he’s so cool,” behind his hand and seemed to finally be reserved to squealing in Loki’s head, Loki lowered his palm to his side.

“I could have,” Loki said, careful not to speak too loud, in case that started Peter up again.

            Thor bit his lip, suddenly tense. His hand lingered behind Loki’s neck, familiar as the sun. “Gods,” he whispered. “You look so young.”

            “What?” Loki felt his eyebrows knit together on his forehead. “What do you mean?”

            Thor motioned over to the nearest mirror and let go of him with only a trace of hesitation.

            Loki padded over, slow and unsure, until he finally caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection. He stepped back like a reflex to getting slapped. Thor’s hand came up behind him and pushed him lightly back into the sight.

            When Peter had told him about the clumps of hair, Loki hadn’t questioned it. He was used to the feeling of rotting away, had figured it was the next step. He hadn’t thought that maybe something had been changing, this new energy now twisting him inside and out. His cheeks looked less gaunt than before, his skin less ravaged, his eyebrows a little more carefully arched.

            Thor spoke what Loki thought.

            “You look as you did when the Bifrost cracked.”

            “You look like a baby, Mr. Loki,” Peter said, and the feeling of seeing himself say it in the mirror made Loki’s stomach nearly bottom out.

            Thor grabbed him by the shoulder once more and turned him slowly. “Loki,” he began. “This is…”

            Loki definitely did not grab Thor with both arms. That was not the kind of thing Loki did. He certainly did not press himself as close to Thor as he could, to smell the magic of Nidavellir exuding from him like the rain after a storm. It was absolutely Peter, who clung to Thor with a desperateness that was fit more for infants than any god of mischief.

            _“… Mr. Loki.”_

            “Shut up,” Loki begged. “Shut up shut up shut up.”

            “Oh, Loki,” Thor murmured, sounding so old and like Odin that Loki wanted to shriek. “There are worse things in life.”

            “I have died so often,” Loki hissed through his tears, “I challenge you to show me.”

            “I can’t.” Thor sighed. “You’re never there after you die, how can you know how it aches?”

            It was definitely, most certainly never could or would be, not Loki who sobbed.

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This likely has some typos in it, but I'm still recovering from alcohol poisoning so that might not get fixed for a bit.
> 
> Thank you all SO MUCH for reading!


	11. That Golden Retriever Vine Where You Think There's One Dog but There's Really Two!!!!

 

            Thor loved his brother very much, there was no arguing it. Most people weren’t going to forgive an attempt to take over another realm, or to destroy another realm, or to steal artifacts that change the course of history. They wouldn’t forgive their brother stabbing them, repeatedly, with no thought of manners.

            Thor knew though that these were just Loki things. On brand, as the Midgardians liked to say.

            So, that being said, Thor meant it with all the love in the world that his brother had looked like a real mess for the past decade (since the fall). Greasy, over-compensatory, usually wearing a sneer or a glare or that manic grin that befit a beast more than his brother. On that Earthen hill-side, after Thor had grabbed Loki out from his securings on the quinjet, it had been the first thing he noticed. His brother had returned, yes, but also not.

            Now, Loki looked as he had before Thor’s banishment to Earth so many years ago and Thor realized how much he missed having a brother who didn’t look so terribly sick.

            Loki sat on the bed, one leg curled underneath him as he looked over Stormbreaker in his palms. His eyes darted back and forth, sometimes at the details of the weapon and other times towards nothing at all. Thor squeezed his fingers around Loki’s shoulder as he watched, careful. Loki, normally not one for prolonged touch, let him. His eyes were still red from earlier, though he’d definitely balk to hear it from Thor.

            “It is a weapon,” Loki spoke, and Thor knew it wasn’t to him. “Forged from the heart of a dying star, created to harness and enhance great power…” Loki shook his head. “It can’t be yielded by just any soul.”

            “But I can,” Thor chimed. “I am very powerful.”

            Loki glanced up at Thor long enough to give him a good look at his eyeroll. Thor grinned and squeezed Loki’s shoulder harder.

            Loki traced long fingers over the weapon’s edge. “… No, there are no weapons like this for me,” he said. “I don’t wage battle in that way.”

            A silence as Loki listened to whatever young Peter had to say. When Peter spoke, Loki’s shoulders relaxed, and the traces of a smile tugged along his lips. Loki had always been fond of children, likely because their enthusiasm made for great trouble.

            When Loki snorted, Thor tilted his head expectantly.

            “What did he say?”

            Loki shook his head and cleared his throat. “Only that I have caused enough problems without something like Storm Breaker or Mjolnir. It’s probably best I don’t have one.”

            “Brother.”

            His head perked up and Loki, curious bright-eyed Loki of his past, the one who spun Thor in circles and laughed as he stumbled into fights, looked at him so expectantly. Thor’s hand moved to the back of his neck, as if that might protect it from being crushed again.

            “Can I speak to the boy?”

            Loki’s face fell. “Why would you want to do that?”

            “Because I don’t trust you to tell me what’s going on.” Thor slapped his hand on the back of Loki’s shoulder, sending Loki forward with a disgruntled huff of air. “And he seems incapable of lying. What a good pair!”

            “Shut up.”

            “Perhaps I should draw him out with feats of strength? He seems very impressed by my—” Thor flexed. “—Impressive physique.”

            “Are you planning on suffocating Thanos with your ego? If so, it’s working beautifully, brother.”

            “It’s hard not to think about, since you’re wearing my clothes. I can’t help but realize how I fill them out far better.” Thor tugged on the red collar around Loki’s throat lightly, still bandaged.

            Loki pulled away, prissy as always. “Stop.”

            “Maybe some mead to put meat on your bones?”

            “Stop.”

            “Why?” Thor tugged again. “Am I bothering you?”

            Loki’s shoulders hunched, and he shifted away from Thor’s hand. “No.”

            “You seem bothered.”

            “I’m not.”

            “Are you sure?”

            “Of course.”

            “Is Peter bothered?” Thor asked. “Maybe you should let him express himself.”

            “Is that what you’re trying to do? Annoy him into coming out?”

            “Is it working?”

            Loki placed the Stormbreaker aside on the bed and turned his body so he was better facing Thor. Lips curled inward, eyebrows knitted together, he said his words through a sneer.

            “What do you want to say to him?”

            Thor didn’t know a lot about the boy. He knew he adored heroism, especially Stark. He knew he was young, and a bit of a pest. He had ended up in the fight with Thanos and Stark by injecting himself on a ship he definitely had no business being on. He had helped nobly until the end. Wise beyond his years, maybe, but still a kid.

            “Peter,” Thor asked, “What’s your favorite part of being an avenger?”

            The switch was far less threatening than Banner and Hulk. Their transitionary moments were filled with fear, and pain, and screaming. That wasn’t what this was. Loki’s eyes lit up like a child, his face immediately going from snarl to a grin Thor didn’t know Loki even capable of. His brother’s actions were all smooth, the curling smirks and drawling commentary of nearly unforgivable levels of smugness. Too posh to admit to being eager. As if that would be embarrassing.

            Meanwhile, Peter raised Loki’s hands up, whipping out in bright motions as he said, in Loki’s voice maybe but higher and with blinding enthusiasm, “I mean, where do I even start?! I finally got to really meet Mr. Stark, that was the coolest. But then all the other stuff. I’ve learned a lot! So much. I got to go to space! It’s so cool, Thor—uhm. Mr. Thor? Your highness?”

            Something clenched in Thor’s chest as this boy in his brother’s body stared at him with such need. Thor clasped his hand on Loki’s shoulder and smiled, as if that might stop him from tearing up. His vision fogged anyway.

            “Mr. Thor?”

             Loki had to be mortified at the words coming out of his mouth. Peter’s enthusiasm wouldn’t stay in control much longer.

            “What did you see in my brother’s head?” he asked. “Stark said dark magic.”

            The realization hit him suddenly. He nodded, a smart kid. “Where we go, I saw him like he looks now. Youngish, y’know? And surrounded with this black mist stuff. I tried to keep it away, but he almost disappeared.”

            “Is it still there?”

            “He woke up after. I didn’t check.” He frowned. “What is it?”

            Thor shook his head. “I want to see it. You remember Stark’s technology—his ability to project things from inside the mind?”

            “Barf!” Peter nodded eagerly.

            “I want to hook _you_ to it. To show me. Can you do that?” Thor held Peter’s shoulder tightly. “It’s very important you keep control to do that. So I can help my brother.”

            “I don’t know how to keep control though.” Peter frowned pitifully, so childlike Thor couldn’t help his smile. Norns, he had missed his brother. “It just happens. We don’t know how or why.”

            “I want you to want to be in control,” Thor ordered. “Okay? It’s very important you don’t let Loki control again until after we check.”

            “Oh gosh. I don’t know. Mr. Loki won’t like that at all—”

            “Sometimes being a hero means making those decisions.” Thor scoffed at himself. “Of course, you know that. You’re an avenger!”

            Peter gasped, so soft. “I _am._ ”

            Thor wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulder and boosted him off the bed with him. When Peter whispered something about his large muscles in a small Loki voice, Thor laughed. He guided the boy out of the room and made a path straight to Stark’s lab.

            For the first time since retrieving it, he left Stormbreaker behind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thor's POV? whaaaaat?  
> I'm feeling much better thank you all for such kind wishes!!!! This one's short before we jump back into Peter POV fun. For all of you asking questions what I mean by young--we're talking Thor 1 young. No young avengers shenanigans going on here.
> 
> This title is inspired by : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4buAI39XTCQ
> 
> Road Work Ahead is now being translated into Spanish!!!


	12. The Helium Balloon Vine In The Car But The Balloons Are Filled With Black Magic

           

            When Tony looked into Loki’s eyes, he saw Peter staring back at him.

            It wasn’t because his face had become younger, though it had. It was something else. Something unnerving in the way Peter could make muscles lift in constant apprehension of a new and exciting world. The way he hung on the edge of everything Tony did and said. As Tony fiddled with his gear and Thor babbled on to Peter about great conquests and his travel to get his magic axe from the magic dwarf guy, Peter still glanced over at Tony. Every laugh, every exhale, then to Tony to make sure he was reacting correctly.

            Tony’s stomachs had been in loops since Loki—Peter—had arrived. He turned his back to the two and pressed his palm into his stomach before taking a deep breath.

            Thor wasn’t much help. The guy refused to be moved by anything.

            “Oh,” he’d said when they finally spoke over the phone. After getting over the glee that his brother was alive, Thor said, “Loki is sharing his body with a teenage human?” and laughed.

            _That’s my kid in there,_ Tony nearly snapped. Except Peter wasn’t. He was May Parker’s nephew, and Tony had royally screwed that up too.

            Thor hadn’t had to crawl his way back to Earth, his fancy axe made sure of that. He hadn’t had to make nice with a sociopathic alien, though he’d likely enjoy her too, since he adored his brother so much. Thor hadn’t had to knock on that door in Queens, after so many were already gone, and say, “Hey, no biggie, but Peter is dead too.”

            The black eye she gave him only lasted a week, but he could still remember how May sounded when she cried.

            She said, “I can’t believe you let him go with you.” She said, “You bastard.” She said, “He was just a kid.” She said, “I lost him too. I couldn’t lose him too.” She said, “Damn you, Tony Stark.”

            Logic of it all be damned. Peter would have faded like Kansas’ Dust in the Wind even if he’d been on Earth. But that really was the difference of it. Peter would have been on Earth. He would have been with May, and his goofy friend Ned, or that girl who adored him and Pete was too dumb to see it.

            He could have been anywhere else, and he’d died in Tony’s arms.

            “Mr. Stark?”

            Tony straightened his tie and turned around. He’d have to research the science of it—how a grown god like Loki could physiologically make his voice so small like Peter. He’d have to know so he could never hear it again.

            “Alright, kiddo.” Tony flashed a milli-second smile. “I’m gonna hook up the transmitter to the back of your head. You need to think about that black smoke that you told me about. Don’t worry about getting anything wrong. Your brain will take us there.”

            Loki—Peter—nodded eagerly.

            “You got it, Mr. Stark.”

            Tony lowered his head so Peter wouldn’t see his jaw clench. He placed a hand on the back of Loki’s neck and pressed the transmitter to the back of his skull.

            Loki hissed air out like he was being deflated and winced away from his touch.

            “It’s alright, brother,” Thor quickly spoke up. “We’ve got it. Let Peter keep control.”

            “Your brother seems pretty spiteful,” Tony reminded, “I wouldn’t ask him to do much of anything directly if I were you.”

            “It’s okay,” Loki said, “I still have him.”

            Peter. Not Loki.

            Tony stepped back and watched the black-haired… person. He offered Tony a smile, close lipped and childlike.

            “I promise,” he said.

            Thor slapped a hand on Tony’s shoulder.

            “Are we ready?” he asked, smiling brightly.

            Tony nodded and stepped out of Thor’s grasp. “We’re going to watch from the other side of the room so we don’t get in the middle of the projection, alright? Don’t worry about us.”

            Loki/Peter nodded and shut his eyes. “I got this.”

            Thor walked just as hesitantly as Tony to their corner of the room. He noted, with distant amusement, how Thor crossed his arms with him. Maybe he was just as stressed as Tony was. It wasn’t as if Tony could lose much more—Peter had already died, but Loki had his body back. There were some stakes on the table, they just weren’t on Tony’s side.

            The projection took form slowly, likely the struggle of two battling consciousnesses through one link. It flickered, over and again, until the sight of Loki appeared on the ground, curled up in the fetal position. Thor stiffened beside him like he was one step away from fighting the projection himself.

            As Peter—Peter, the kid in the Iron Spider suit running forward with his floppy brown hair and his voice—neared, the black smoke became clear. Tony rubbed at his chest as Peter urged Loki to move, to roll over, to do something.

            Sure enough, when Peter got Loki onto his back, this Loki looked younger than he had when he attacked New York by a good hot minute. Peter shook his shoulders, and Loki began mumbling something about penance, about giving his body to Peter, about deserving his death by Thanos.

            It was a rare day Tony witnessed somebody more screwed up than him.

            “That magic,” Thor said at his side, “is from the void.”

            “What?”

            “When Loki fell from the Bifrost, it was into the void of space. That dark magic is from the void, you can see it in the constellations it manifests.” Thor motioned outwards. Sure enough, the black smoke was filled with unmoving stars. “That is why he looks as he did then. It was before his seidr was infected with its malice.” Then Thor scrunched up his nose and said, “Gross.”

            Tony pursed his lips. “What are you saying? He got an evil disease before he took over Earth and met Thanos? That sounds awfully convenient.”

            “Of course not.” Thor shook his head. “But it likely didn’t help his mood much. And he already was so prone to being in a bad mood.”

            Thor placed his finger to his chin and tapped it in consideration.

            “Young Peter!” he shouted.

            Tony jolted in place. He slapped a hand over his heart.

            “Jesus.”

            Thor continued to yell. “Try to access the place with the dark magic again!”

            “Anybody ever tell you you’re bossy?” Tony grumbled.

            “Please!” Thor yelled again.

            The projection faded as Peter maneuvered through lord only knew what Loki’s brain looked like. As Peter tried his hand at rediscovering the black magic in Loki’s head (which wasn’t lost on Tony as an interesting fantasy novel name or synth band name), the door behind Tony and Thor cracked open.

            “Oh, sorry,” Bruce said, “Am I interrupting?”

            Tony waved Bruce in and Bruce quickly shut the door behind him before shuffling over in his Bruce Banner patented “please don’t yell at me I’m trying my best” white guy scamper.

            “Has Tony told you about Loki?” Thor whispered down to Bruce, his hand already making a place on the scientist’s shoulder.

            Bruce nodded. “Yeah. So, he’s got some kid in him? I-I mean…”

            “Don’t drag that out any longer than you need to,” Tony begged. He motioned forward to the projection. “We’re hooked into Peter right now, trying to see how much of Loki’s soul is infected with black space magic.”

            “Of course we are.” Bruce leaned forward and squinted at the dark projection. “How are we doing with that?”

            “Loki likely isn’t appreciating it,” Thor admitted. He sighed. “I hope we can see how much is left before he regains control.”

            “Regains control,” Bruce echoed. Tony glanced over and didn’t miss the look of intense concentration as Bruce’s mind went from Loki to the Hulk. It wasn’t until he heard Loki cry out that Tony looked back to the projection. Thor’s hand had moved from Bruce, only to have Bruce grab Thor by the bicep to keep him back.

            Loki had Peter by the shoulder, and even though Tony knew the projection wasn’t real he had to stop himself from jumping forward and sending a repulsor ray into Loki’s head. The gods fingers clenched, tight, and he seethed down at Peter, heavy breaths lifting his chest. The black magic hung heavy in the air above them.

            “This is not how we do this,” Loki was saying. “I did not—I did not consent.”

            “Thor asked!” Peter shot back. “He wanted to know if the black magic was still there, and it is! Mr. Loki, you are _sick_.”

            “What else is new?” Loki finally released Peter and skulked away. The magic followed him like a cloud. “I want you to give me back my body.”

            “You were going to—You almost gave it to me!” Peter’s confusion was evident in the way he hunched, his arms out and wide like always. Peter always stood like he was trying to touch something just out of reach. “You almost let me have your body!”

            “That was before,” Loki said to the wall.

            “Before what?” Peter pleaded.

            Peter’s body shook suddenly. Above him, a black cloud stirred.

            Peter had his own cloud of black magic to worry about.

            The two figures reverberated in the projection until the room snapped into darkness. Tony pulled out his tablet swiftly.

            “FRIDAY?”

            “Loki’s removed the chip, boss.”

            “Lights. Now.”

            Thor strode across the room in four steps that felt like leaps just in time to grab Loki before he made his way to the door. Loki shoved him away and hissed, “Do _not_ touch me.”

            Thor didn’t back down so easily. “You are filled with poison.”

            “And?” Loki threw his arms in the air. “How would you suggest we dissipate it?”

            “I wouldn’t suggest you run off and ignore it,” Thor snapped back.

            Ah, these were the brothers Tony was used to.

            “Loki,” Tony spoke up. He made careful work to keep his pace even, calm, and confident, even as Bruce shuffled awkwardly behind him. “Peter being in your body is infecting his soul with that black magic. I saw it before the projection died. This isn’t just about you anymore.”

            Loki’s face fell and he froze. Thor’s hand made a home on Loki’s shoulder—did that guy ever stop touching people?—and Loki cleared his throat.

            “He is not.”

            “We saw it,” Bruce supplemented. “Right when you got control of the projection, probably. When it switched to your mind, we saw it. Peter likely doesn’t know… Or, uhm… He probably does now.”

            “Unless you shoved him down somewhere deep in that twisted head of yours,” Tony said.

            “You’re one to talk,” Loki growled. “Who makes a machine designed to relive traumas other than some sort of sadist?”

            “You must not know a lot about therapy.” Tony clicked on the tablet and snapped it small so it would fit back in his pocket. “We have the video of the projection—we can analyze that magic. Thor, you said there were constellations in it. There’s probably more where that came from. We’ll start there.”

            “Just get him out of me.” Loki’s jaw was practically wired shut. But, in all his wet-cat anger, Tony knew teary eyes when he saw them.            

            After Thanos, he knew Loki for what he was. Just another fucked up guy making bad decisions. How disappointingly relatable.

            “If Peter has that magic in his soul, and it’s been following you since the void, it will follow him too.” Thor kept his voice gentle. “We need to fix that first.”

            Loki turned away from them, his eyes locked on the wall. “I want to leave.”

            Before Bruce, Tony, or Thor could reply, Loki said in that high voice to himself, “I’m sorry, Mr. Loki.”

            Loki made a beeline for the door and slammed it so hard behind him, the walls shook.

            “Poor Pete,” Bruce said. Then he added, “Poor Loki.”

            “Oh, come on!” Tony pushed Bruce lightly into Thor’s side. “Et tu, Brute?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing all these years just to have Tony Stark use a Shakespeare joke on Bruce Banner. The story ends here, sorry guys, I'm retiring. byeeeeeeeeee.


	13. Who is She?

 

            Peter hadn’t realized how loose his reign had been in Loki’s body until Loki shut himself away into the nearest closet—no rhyme or reason to the movement for Peter to track in Loki’s head. There was only the desire to get away from the others and the seething sense of humiliation that seeped into both of them until Peter felt distinctly uncomfortable inhabiting Loki’s body.

            Loki shut the door behind him, sank to his knees, and grabbed his head in his hands. He lowered his face, burrowed his nose into his knees, and screamed into the muscle of his thighs until his voice, already raw, went hoarse.

            _“Mr. Loki…”_

            “SHUT UP!”

            Peter winced, bodiless, and Loki’s chest curdled in discomfort.

            “Stop stop stop.” He grabbed the back of his neck. “Stop it. This isn’t fair.”

            _“… Mr. Loki…”_ When Loki did nothing more than rock lightly back and forth, Peter took that as a sign to continue. _“I’m very sorry… But you’re sick… We both are… I don’t—I don’t get why you don’t want help?”_

            “I am tired of failing,” Loki whispered. “I am so very tired of falling short of victory. It is—ah.” Loki sniffed and rubbed at his eyes. If Peter wasn’t inside, he’d almost think he wasn’t crying. “It is so tiresome to always be wrong.”

            _“Wrong?”_

A knock on the door sent Loki coiling back into the dark of the closet.

            “Loki?” Thor, from up high.

            Loki turned his back so it pressed against the wall, firm. “Go away.”

            “Oh, Loki, come on now.” The sound of Thor’s voice sliding down towards the ground as he sat down on the other side. “You’re being dramatic. Nobody minds you switching with Peter. It’s quite interesting to watch, if you must know.”

            “I am not in the business of being your spectacle, brother,” Loki snarled the words out. Peter wished he had hands to fiddle. “Leave me alone. I won’t tell you again.”

            “I would love to, except that your soul is slathered with black magic.” Thor tried for the door knob. Loki shifted away from the rattle of it. Thor tried to open out, but something like seidr kept the bolt from moving.

            “… Loki? Lokiiiii…”

            Moments turned into minutes and Peter tried his hardest to keep his mouth shut, in fear of Loki’s temper, while Thor and Loki shared the heavy silence between the wall.

            “Peter?” Thor called.

            _“Oh no.”_

             Loki rocketed onto his feet and whipped the door open. He pushed his way out, into Thor tumbling to his feet, and slammed the god into the wall. Loki’s dagger came out—a bluff, Peter thought, until he heard Thor’s breath hiss out from his teeth. Distantly, Peter felt Loki’s fingers curl around the handle of the dagger as he pushed it further into Thor’s gut.

            Thor wrapped his hand around Loki’s and scowled. “Stop it. I didn’t watch you die again for us to go back to this.”

            “Am I disappointing you, brother?”

            Loki’s words, the hatred seeping out of every syllable like a slinking fog, made Peter dizzy. Loki pressed harder into the blade to counter Thor’s strength, but once Thor put his mind to pulling out the blade—there was nothing to be done. He tossed the dagger aside onto the floor and grabbed Loki by the biceps.

            Then, Loki doubled over and pressed his forehead into Thor’s shoulder. Peter’s hands shook, no Loki’s hands, no Peter’s hands…

            All Peter knew was the overwhelming urge to vomit, the way it curdled in Loki’s gut, and how it spilled out from Loki’s throat onto the floor in-between them. Their throat went hot, the bile stinging their larynx.

            Loki went limp, to fall into the tile.

            “Oh whoa whoa whoa. Hey there. Hey, brother.” Thor quickly caught Loki by the arm-pit and kept him lifted. He ducked low, his arm still high, to try and look into Loki’s eyes. “You’re alright.”

            “Thor,” Peter said, hating that he had to speak in Loki’s body, knowing how it infuriated him. “I don’t think… I don’t think we’re okay…”

            Loki whipped away from Thor’s hold, stumbled backwards into the wall, and screamed, more from rage than anything else. He pushed his way down the hallway and made it an impressive five feet before his legs gave out underneath him.

            Thor slid to Loki’s side, his arm already linked around his shoulders. “Come on, brother. You’re alright.”

            “I am not.” Loki and Peter shook their head. “He isn’t.”

            “I am trying,” Loki said. “He really wants to help me. He didn’t have to.”

            “I didn’t know about the magic. I didn’t know—”

            “—He’s really hurt. It’s rotting in here.”

            “I knew this body was flawed. He told me, and I told him—and I—he—where do we start and end? Oh God.”

            Loki, or Peter, or maybe them both, collapsed forward. They would have cracked their head on the tile, if it wasn’t for Thor’s strong grip holding them together.

            “Loki!? _Loki_!”

            Thor rolled them over onto their back, head popping against the tile like a woodpecker’s cadence as the body shivered. Thor’s eyes, blue and brown, narrowed above them, darting all over their features in search of something they couldn’t see.

            “Hey. Hey, Loki?” He snapped his fingers above their head.

            “I don’t…” their voice came out, hollow sounding. Neither high or now. “I’m so confused, Mr. Brother.” Their voice cracked and the face crumbled into tears.

            Thor’s eyes widened. “Oh no no no.” He hoisted them up. “It’s me. It’s Thor.”

            He kept his arms wrapped around them like a barracuda grip and yelled towards the end of the hallway in a voice that sounded tight. “BANNER!”

            “I don’t… How many…” They pawed at the silver in Thor’s armor, searching for something like a heart beat or a word. “I—I… I want—I don’t know. Oh God. I don’t know.”

            “It’s okay. It’s okay.” Thor lifted them up. “BANNER! _NOW_!”

            Banner ran and came to a stop right beside Thor and them. Green at the ears, he looked them in the eyes, and said, in a calm voice, “Hey, Loki? Peter? Who’s who right now?”

            “I don’t… I don’t…” They shook their head.

            “Take your time. It’s alright. Just breathe, okay?”

            They nodded. Bruce smiled. “Just like this. Just in… and out…” He repeated the actions for them, waited for them to follow, and they did. Together.

            Together.

            “Where are you from?” Bruce asked.

            The body around them, Thor, had a grip tight on their shoulder as he watched. The breath came harder then, shakier. Where were they from?

            “I’m…”

            “It’s alright,” Bruce said. He glanced behind them, to Thor. “Isn’t it?”

            Thor nodded. His chuckle tremored. “Yes. Yes. It’s fine.”

            “Breath in… Out… In… Out…”

            And like that for what felt like hours until he knew.

            “I’m from… I’m from Asgard. And Jotunheim,” Loki answered. “And… the void. The darkness.” He rubbed his hand against the bridge of his nose. “I am a son of Odin… I think.”

            “You are,” Thor nearly tripped over himself to say. “You are. Odinson.”

            “Odinson,” Loki replied, hollow.

            “And where’s Peter?”

            Loki looked up, behind them to see Tony Stark watching from the hallway’s wall with eyes shining from a heavy veneer of tears.

            “I’m here too,” Peter promised. “It’s… It’s getting confusing.”

            “Bodies aren’t meant for two souls,” Bruce murmured in solemn agreement.

            “I poisoned him,” Loki whispered. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to. Truly, I didn’t. I gain nothing from it.”

            Tony said something over Bruce’s shoulder that they couldn’t catch. Thor straightened up, held Loki closer at the words.

            “What—what was that?” Loki said. Maybe Peter again.

            “I’m sorry.”

            Thor’s hands were the last thing he felt before unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> B)


	14. I am the Sad Guardian, Guardian of the Sad

 

            Loki liked to push buttons, especially buttons relating to the Hulk. Bruce wasn’t one to overlook irony now that Loki had to share his body with somebody who represented the worse side of him. For Bruce, his alter ego was brash, and angry, and… intellectually disgruntled. Yeah, we’ll call it that.

            And Loki’s worse fear of impression? Was evidently appearing kind, and enthusiastic, and naïve.

            Karma wasn’t always a bitch. Sometimes it was just weird.

            Bruce kept his arms tight to his side, making sure to split the distance between Tony and Loki’s sleeping body. Tony had certainly stiffened up since meeting Thanos, and was bordering on the edges of a hypomanic episode since Loki’s arrival. The messages Tony sent had no interest in time. Notes flew in at 3AM or 7PM or 9AM. It didn’t matter. Tony wasn’t sleeping anyway. In that moment, he kept his eyes on the screen connected to the cradle. The one pumping in genetic information to the infrastructure.

            In other cases, Bruce would have berated Tony for his invasive paranoia—for having Peter’s DNA on file in the first place. In this case, Tony’s paranoia had been well placed.

            Bruce had to wonder though if there was genetic information of him in there somewhere. If he had been gone any longer on Sakaar, if he’d have returned to a cloned Bruce made within Helen Cho’s cradle.

            He shuddered.

            “Banner?”

            Bruce turned his attention to Thor. He sat close to Loki on the cot where they’d sat him, his palms pressed together in a rare action of keeping his hands to himself. Bruce raised his eyebrows and hummed in acknowledgement. Remembering his manners, he added a, “Yeah?”

            “You seem in your thoughts. Are you rethinking the plan?”

            Bruce shook his head. “No. No, I still think we need to separate them. I’m just… Thinking about the implications, is all.”

            “And what implications are those, Brucey?” Tony’s voice carried smoothly over the hum of the cradle. Bruce didn’t dare look inside, would only settle on the peripheral updates of the boy’s skeletal structure inside.

            “Two souls, vying for control in the same body.” Bruce leaned back against a table he thought was closer than it was and stumbled just slightly. Thor grinned. Tony’s eyebrows raised. “The implication of that. The merging and everything. Maybe I need to look outside of science for my, uhm, Hulk. Thing.”

            “You and Hulk vie for control, yes,” Thor said. “But you occupy separate forms. Your physiology is designated to match your psychology.”

            “You saying if Hulk was just the temper and not the muscle, Bruce and him would have merged already?” Tony inquired.

            “I don’t know. Maybe.” Thor shrugged. “In other realms, pieces of souls merge with items of value. I carried items of my brother when I thought him dead in hopes of commemorating and meeting with those fragments.”

            “But he wasn’t dead,” Tony pointed out.

            “Yes, that explains in hindsight why the trinkets never helped me. I thought he was just being spiteful.”

            Thor turned his attention to his brother, shockingly peaceful looking on the cot and aided by a tranquilizer Thor had administered after knocking him out. He stirred in moments of semi-consciousness to lean over and barf into a bucket Thor had in grabbing distance of his feet. The smell kept Bruce further away than he’d like to be—the bile burning like acid in the back of his nostrils. Thor seemed unbothered, but Bruce had yet to counter much of anything that could knock him off his feet for very long.

            “Did you try any after his death this time?” Bruce asked, gentle.

            Thor shook his head. “There was nothing left. The guardians took me on their ship. We were out of range of the Statesman’s wreckage when I awoke. I couldn’t… I couldn’t even bury him.”

            “Why did your brother bring Peter back with him?” Tony demanded. “Just out of curiosity. They don’t seem like kindred spirits.”

            “I know you have a different memory of him.” Thor already sounded exasperated. How much of his life had he spent defending Loki? “It’s fair. He’s…” He glanced at Loki. “A lot. I know that. But we now know he was agitated with dark magic, and under Thanos’s control when he came to Earth. Does that mean anything to you?”

            “It does,” Tony, shockingly, allowed. “Bigger guys than your brother balk in the face of a guy like Thanos. I don’t mean that part. I mean the part where Loki came back and decided to share his body with a kid. A human kid. That’s the part I’m struggling with. I’m just trying to figure out what he gains from it.”

            Thor shook his head. “I don’t think he meant to. I think he intended to put him somewhere else. Probably somebody else’s body.”

            “Why bring Peter back at all?” Bruce asked.

            Thor laughed, loud and warming. “My brother likely doesn’t even know, and you expect me to predict his actions? I think he’s trying out heroism. He gets bored of things so quickly and I imagine being the villain became tiresome.” He rolled his eyes. “Nobody makes statues for the bad guy.”

            “You’d be surprised,” Tony scoffed. “I should show you some world history books.”

            “I’m sure some parts of the world weren’t happy about my becoming an Avenger either.” Bruce sighed. “So, what’s the status on Peter’s body?”

            “We’ve got a couple more hours,” Tony answered. He pulled himself up onto the table beside Bruce and offered him a drink from his smoothie. Bruce took it and sipped while Tony spoke. “The problem isn’t making the body. That’s the easy part. With Pete’s DNA, we can make a perfect copy, spidey powers and all. I just need to put Pete’s soul back in there.”

            “Loki can do it,” Thor answered. He turned in his seat, his hand resting behind him on Loki’s leg in case it moved. “He can place the soul back in.”

            “Black magic and all, unfortunately.” Bruce sighed and handed the drink back to Tony. Tony shook it, found it empty, and huffed, “Hey!”

            “We need to move as fast as we can on this. If they’re awake much longer, switching back and forth, who knows what will happen.”

            “Some terrible mixed drink of Peloki.” Tony set his own, empty, drink aside. “Not to be confused with peyote.”

            Loki stirred. Thor shushed him absently and Loki settled once more.

            “Thor, can I ask you something?” Bruce inquired.

            Thor nodded, bright. “Of course!”

            “You killed your sister, right?”

            Thor’s eyebrows immediately scrunched together. “Yes…”

            “Because she was threatening others…” Bruce bit his lip, hoping Thor wasn’t going to make him say it outright.

            Luckily, Tony’s filter hadn’t developed much more since their separation. He asked, “Why is Loki different?”

            “Hella was groomed by my father into an imperialistic state of mind. She was basically designed to conquer, and nothing would ever stop her from doing so. Her identity would flounder without it…” Thor’s hand rubbed Loki’s leg as he spoke, in a way that made Bruce think he didn’t even realize he was doing it. “She was a mirror of my father, in the ways he claimed he didn’t want Loki and myself to be. I didn’t grow up with her, and I never could have. She would never have allowed for peace in any way.”

            “You think Loki wants peace?” For all Tony’s shock, he didn’t laugh.

            Thor nodded. “I returned to Asgard to a statue of him, bigger than any others in our entire dynasty. He had created dramatizations of epic tales, brought the people together with his stories. Lies? Yes. He’s absolutely a liar. But he still brought the people together. He did not set out to slaughter them. Had he ruled Earth, which I don’t think he ever would have, I imagine he would have not known what to do. Perhaps asked for a cloud of people to follow him around to pat him on the back and tell him how great he was. His nefariousness is…”

            Thor laughed.

            “My brother is a trickster, but he tries. Maybe he should be renamed. The god of trying.”

            “I might have that one locked down,” Tony scoffed. Bruce spared a glance and saw Tony was laying off his interest in Loki. Begrudgingly, yes, but the malice had simmered away just a bit.

            “Your boy—Peter?” Thor said. Tony’s eyes darted back. “He is safe with my brother. He does not delight in seeking out malice with no other purpose.”

            “I just worry we don’t know what his purpose is, big guy,” Tony admitted. “And if I do this,” he motioned to the cradle, “and end up helping create another Frankenstein’s monster, I think I’m going to have to start considering retirement.”

            “Your boy,” Bruce echoed Thor’s words. “Tony, where did you find this kid?”

            Tony shrugged. “Around.”

            “That seems honest and not at all avoidant,” Thor called out.

            “I keep an open radar for possible recruits. When the Avengers started growing, I just wanted to keep an eye on future assets… He was young, so I was working on maybe a school type atmosphere. More like an internship really. Something to help him grow into it. When Steve went AWOL, I just moved a bit faster.”

            “I think there might be a school somewhere,” Bruce commented.

            “Yeah, but their entry requirements are real weird and some kids don’t want to move away from home, or have to. I hear their teachers are kinda handsy too.” Tony shrugged. “It was a work in progress.”

            “So, he has a family?” Thor inquired.

            “Yeah. An aunt.” Tony hopped off the table. “I’m going to get another drink. You guys want something?”

            After Thor and Bruce humored Tony’s avoidance by saying yes, sure they’d love a drink, and Tony was out of the room, the two focused on each other.

            “He,” Thor pointed out of the room after Tony, “Is not okay.”

            “No,” Bruce sighed, “But I don’t think he ever has been. As long as Thanos is out there.”

            Thor leaned back, his arm resting on Loki’s leg now. “I don’t blame him.” His voice dropped to a vicious tone, reminding Bruce just who was in the room with him. “But we will succeed soon enough.”

            Loki stirred again, his hand reaching out to swat away his brother’s touch even in unconsciousness. Bruce walked over and knelt down, careful not to get in hitting or barfing distance. Thor watched with curiosity, not hesitation, and Bruce’s heart wrenched at the god’s sheer amount of trust in him.

            “Loki?”

            Loki’s jaw, skeletal and defined, worked. It clenched, his nose scrunched, and then his eyes—a green that looked more like ice than the radiation leakage hue of the Hulk—squinted open. Loki looked up at him, struggling to place him for a moment until an incredibly rare and doped up smile came over his lips.

            “Hello, Bruce.”

            The last time he’d heard that line, Loki had been tied to a chair and licking the words out from his teeth like a big cat on the prowl for a hunt to taunt. This time it came a little slurred, with a near hysterical lilt at the end.

            “Hey, Loki.” Bruce motioned to him up and down. “How are you feeling?”

            “Incredibly stoned,” Loki answered. “Peter assures me that his high from edibles was far more enjoyable, though. So, I guess I did not, in fact…” A long pause as Bruce practiced his best unaffected face. “…eat a pot brownie.”

            “I’m afraid not,” Bruce consoled. “Maybe later.”

            “It sounds delightful. It sounds… Oh.” Loki’s face went pale again and Thor grabbed the bucket swiftly so Loki could dry heave into it. Thor rubbed his brother’s back, still a bit confused, as he mouthed, ‘pot brownie?’ to Bruce.

            “I’ll tell you later,” Bruce promised. When Loki was finished and practically deflated into the cot, Bruce asked, “Loki, could you put Peter in somebody else’s body?”

            “No one else,” Loki whispered, “No one else can handle him but me.”

            “Seems like you can’t handle him either, brother.”

            “Shut.” Loki spit into the bucket and rolled onto his back, panting. “Up.”

            “If we had Peter’s body ready, could you?” Bruce tried again.

            Loki nodded. “I could… But he’s infected. I infected him.” Loki’s arms covered his face. “… I didn’t know that would happen. Truly.”

            Holy _shit_. Loki honestly did care about this kid. Bruce swallowed back his surprise to look at Thor who was shooting him a very undignified ‘I told you so’ look. Bruce cleared his throat.

            “We can fix that, even if you two aren’t together, right? We’re worried you two are going to keep merging until you’re both… Somebody else.”

            “Like you?” Loki whispered. He lifted his arm and stared at Bruce like a dagger. “Your monster changed you. I’ve already changed him.”

            Bruce leaned back and stood up just as Tony walked back into the room with his drinks. “Sleeping beauty awake already?” he asked. “How are we doing?”

            “He’s fine. He’s fine.” Thor laughed. He scooted over to Loki’s face was out of view. “Just tired. Very, uhm, stoned. That’s what he said, right?”

            By the look on Thor’s face, telling Tony about Loki’s prophetic growl was off the table. “I guess Peter told Loki about pot brownies.”

            “Huh.” Tony blinked. “We haven’t had that talk yet. Maybe we should.”

            “Sounds like he already had it.”

            Bruce tilted his body forward, trying to get a look at Loki again. He had already fallen back to sleep.

            Bruce shuddered.

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going on vacation next monday, this time longer than a weekend (I promise I don't go on vacation every week, I just don't know how to schedule anything). This is becoming a monster, so it definitely won't be finished by then, but just be prepared that these quick updates are going to slow down a bit.


	15. Loki Here, With the Raccoon, at Shoppers Drug Mart!!

 

            Thor was talking to a raccoon.

            Loki squinted his eyes and blinked. Surely not…

            Thor reached out and patted the little creature on the back. To which the creature balked for a moment before laughing loudly back.

            “See,” the raccoon said, “Ya gotta come to me with this stuff. It saves a lot of time.”

            “What the hell?” Loki breathed.

            The raccoon turned his head to Loki and hopped down from his place on top of the cradle holding Peter’s manufactured body.

            “Looks like Looky is awake,” he said.

            “Ah yes, brother,” Thor said, already beaming. “I’ve made a new friend.”

            Loki struggled upright, his head aching and Peter unusually quiet. He looked down at the raccoon, dressed in a small hoodie with Mjolnir fashioned on it. “I see that.”

            “Sweet rabbit is incredibly intelligent. Smarter than Stark, but don’t tell him that,” Thor added in a whisper.

            “So, you’re the brother who dies all the time?” Raccoon put his paw out for Loki to shake.

            Loki stared at the paw and nodded in acknowledgement before waving it away. He seemed to have passed a test, because the raccoon smiled, all teeth.

            “Your name… is Rabbit?” Loki tested.

            “That’s just what Thor likes to call me.” Rabbit Raccoon straightened up and puffed out his tiny chest. “The name’s Rocket.”

            “Rocket the rabbit,” Thor chimed.

            Loki stared between the two, let out a deep breath, and shook his head. He’d break the news to Thor later.

            “How are you feeling?” asked Thor.

            Loki shook his head. “I can’t… I don’t hear Peter.”

            “Probably a sign we should move faster instead of slower, if y’know what I mean.” Rocket jumped up onto the cradle’s glass top. “Do you know what this is?” he asked Loki.        

            Loki nodded.

            “Good. So it shouldn’t be a problem for you to pop the kid into this body?”

            Loki stared into the cradle where a perfect copy of Peter lay dormant: floppy brown hair, youthful cheeks and blemish free skin from his face to his toes. The only part not visible was due to a modesty strap of clouding glass over the mid-way point of Peter’s groin. Loki rested his hand on the glass, letting seidr flow out and into the body. Sure enough, empty as a glass bottle.

            “Mr. Stark made a new me,” Peter whispered and Loki, despite himself, felt warm knowing he was still around.

            “Whoah,” Rocket’s terse little voice commented. “It really is some weird split personality crap, huh?”

            “Am I waiting for anything to put him in?” Loki asked.

            “I need to monitor,” Rocket replied. “Make sure the vitals are good.”

            Thor looked over his shoulder at the door. “Should we wait for Stark? Banner?”

            “Nah.” Rocket shook his head. “They’re all meeting with the stoic star guy anyway. There’s no reason why I can’t handle it.”

            Seemed to Loki that Rocket wanted the credit, but he wasn’t about to say so and agitate the creature responsible for making sure Peter transitioned into his body cleanly.

            Loki’s eyebrows pulled together. “The what?”

            “Rogers,” Thor explained briefly, seeming completely uninterested in what the other avengers were doing. “He’s returned from a scouting with other people, so on and so forth. Lots of players going on, Loki. Lots of missions. Avengers stuff.”

            “Any reason you aren’t there with them?” The words were hesitant, but Thor brushing off his human compatriots was more than a little unusual.

            “Boring. I’ll get a memo later.” Thor slapped a hand on Loki’s shoulder. “Besides, I’d rather be here, with you.”

            “That and those meetings last forever. With all the bickering and the morals and such.” Rocket rolled his eyes. “No thanks. Did you know Earth has stores on every corner that sell food and all sorts of cool crap?” Rocket was fiddling around on the tablet connected to the cradle.

            “Yes, they’re called convenient stores,” Thor added. “Rabbit and I have visited many of them. It’s the few places where nobody minds his alien appearance. I got this from one.”

            Thor pulled a small cow from his pocket and handed it over to Loki. Its large eyes stared back at him, unwavering. The surface of it was soft, a malleable sort of rubberized plastic.

            “What do I do with this?” Loki murmured.

            “Grasp it,” Thor urged excitedly.

            When Loki clenched his hand, the large eyes popped out, sending Rocket and Thor into hysterical laughter.

            “Isn’t that hilarious!?” Rocket slapped his knee, still laughing riotously with Thor. “The eyes pop right out!”

            _“Mr. Loki,”_ Peter said inwardly. _“They’re really weird.”_

That was an understatement. Loki gently handed the charm back to his brother.

            “Very interesting,” he offered. That seemed to be enough for Thor, who put the charm back into his pocket with that beaming grin.

            “I also found these things called ‘fidget spinners’ which are very entertaining. I’ll show them to you later. Humans are so inventive.”

            “I don’t like the spinners,” Rocket was saying as the cradle beeped. “They don’t make them for my hands. Not very inclusive if you ask me.”

            “I’m sure we’ll find one for you, rabbit.”

            “When is this going to be ready?” Loki pressed, motioning to Peter’s body in the cradle.

            “Oh, I dunno. Minute. Two minutes.” Rocket shrugged. “Depends if I’m rushing. Am I rushing, dead brother?”

            “I’d prefer it, yes,” Loki murmured. “It’s… becoming more confusing.”

            Rocket lifted his head and considered him for a long moment. “Sure,” he finally allotted. “I bet.”

            Loki pressed his hands back into the glass and shut his eyes.

            _“What do you think, Peter?”_

 _“I dunno, Mr. Loki,”_ Peter’s voice was soft, unsure. Over-powered very easily by Loki in that moment for whatever reason. _“I guess I just want us both to be okay.”_

            Loki nodded. “I think that’s fair to want.”

            “What is?” Thor’s voice sounded, grounding him back to the present.

            He opened his eyes. “When do we begin?” his hand motioned to the cradle, fingers barely brushing the surface. As though, if he pressed down too hard, Peter’s body might break.

            “Just go ahead and start doing the wizard thing now,” Rocket said. “I’ll monitor. We’ll do it like that.”

            Loki had to shut his eyes to stop them from rolling. He knew better than to agitate the hand that fed him. Careful, careful for the knowledge of the black magic rolling like a storm cloud inside their souls, he reached out with his seidr once more—this time to Peter. He knew he made contact when something inside him stuttered, unsure.

            _“That’s you, right?”_

            Loki nodded, and Peter’s soul became compliant. A silly boy to trust somebody like him, but it made it easier to transition. As Loki worked slow and steady to thread the magic through them, the beeping of a heart monitor sounded in the background. The body was alive.

            _“Mr. Loki,”_ Peter’s voice was strained.

            “I know it hurts. Be patient.”

            He shoved his own feelings down, hoped that Peter couldn’t feel the emptiness in his chest knowing that he could so strongly mess things up. If he missed his target, if he didn’t thread him into his body correctly, Peter would be an entity locked to nothing. An eternity of misery.

            The heart monitor sped up the closer Peter’s soul came to the inner mechanisms.

            Slow. Slow.

            Slow.

            Loki spread out his fingers against the glass and, with a mighty push of what had recently been recovered by rest, sent Peter’s soul back to where it belonged. Tainted maybe, but away from him to avoid any more duress.

            The heart monitor screeched. Rocket cursed and leapt from the top of the cradle. The glass cracked under Loki’s fingers, cut into his skin, and anchored him in place. When Peter burst out of the cradle, the glass pressed further into Loki’s veins until Thor could pull him backwards.

            “Holy _shit!_ ” Peter yelled. “Whoah! WHOAH!”

            Loki backed into Thor until they were against the wall, both of Thor’s large hands pressing against the gash in his arm as Peter fumbled out of the cradle and fell, naked, onto the floor.

            “It’s cold! OH! OH!” Peter reached for the nearest item, the hoodie Rocket wore over his little body.

            “Hey!” Rocket snapped. “That’s mine!”

            Peter yanked it off and covered his privates quickly. “I need pants! I’m alive! I need pants and I’m alive!”

            With the tiny yellow hoodie over his crotch, Peter scrambled backwards while Rocket tried to snatch it back into his little claws.

            “WHY IS THERE A RACCOON IN HERE?!” Peter shrieked.

            “I am not!” Rocket yelled back. “Give me back my shirt!”

            “It’s a hoodie!” Peter yelled back, then screamed. “HE TALKS.”

            “I thought he heard everything you heard,” Thor commented, something like a laugh sounding in the back of Loki’s hair as he held him up.

            “I-it…” Loki struggled to keep awake. “It got foggy… Towards the end…”

            At hearing Loki’s voice, Peter’s head perked up and he looked over to him for the first time in what felt like ages.

            “Mr. Loki? Are you okay?”

             The last thing Loki saw was Rocket finally snatching the hoodie back and Peter’s bare ass as he rolled away with another boyish scream.

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this my favorite thing I've ever written? No question. 
> 
> For those of you who asked who T-Rac was in the earlier chapter--it was Rocket. Tony was talking about Rocket.


	16. HoW dO yOu kNoW wHaT's gOoD fOr mE? (Part I)

 

            If anybody successfully created time traveling technology, Peter decided he would use it to go back in time and tell himself not to be too mad at Loki, invader of New York.

            Young Peter would probably say something like, “Whoah! You’re me?!”

            And Future Peter would say, “Kinda? I’m in a new body! But that’s not important! Loki is nice!”

            “Who!?”

            Then Future Peter would tell Young Peter about their wonderful bonding and Loki’s growth and giving him a chance. Maybe even about them sharing edibles outside of Peter’s apartment in Queens—

            Wait. Let’s go back. Back before the edibles and the fear of seeing Aunt May after everything and the odd source of comfort that came in the presence of Loki at his side in a black suit with a smoothie straw sticking out of thin lips—the patient hum as Peter hid in the alley, pacing back and forth as he ranted about why he couldn’t see her—not again—not like this—how would he explain—oh no oh no _oh no_.

            It wasn’t until after Peter grabbed a lab coat off a table and slung it around his new, nude, strangely tight body that he really started hearing the talking raccoon and Thor.

            “Hey, man, your brother don’t look too great.”

            “Loki?” Peter turned around to take in the sight of Loki, arm being wrapped by Thor’s bloody palms where glass had cut into his vein. “Loki?” Thor asked again.

            “Oh! Oh no!” Peter stumbled close. “Did I do that? Oh man. Oh geeze.”

            “Glass should not have been able to cut into his skin,” Thor said, eyes never leaving his brother’s wound as he wrapped it with his own gauntlet. It tightened around the thinness of Loki’s radius bone and Thor scowled. “Not even from the cradle.”

            “Well,” the opinionated raccoon said—Rocket, his brain supplied, “he probably shouldn’t be able to be throwing souls out of his body neither.”

            Rocket looked Peter up and down, eyes stopping on Peter’s covered crotch before he snickered and looked back to Loki and Thor. Peter shifted the coat around his waist and cleared his throat.

            Loki was pallid, even for him. Not only that, he looked older all over again, like before they had merged bodies. Hair long, as if Peter had stolen the newfound youth back. In fact, he was starting to already feel a fog in their connection, a wrench in the cogs of what he knew had been an intimate journey in somebody else’s body.

            “Uh, Mr. Thor, is there anything I can… Should I do something?”

            “Nope.” Thor stood up, hoisted Loki into his arms as if he weighed five pounds, and he flashed a blinding smile down at Peter from his full height.

            Peter stepped back.

            “ _Wow._ ”

            Thor, and Peter could still hardly believe it, winked before looking to Rocket. “Tell Stark about the kid?”

            “Sure thing.” Rocket saluted Thor and, just like that, Loki was whisked away by the God of Thunder without another word.

            “Hey wait—” Peter made a move to follow only for Rocket to step directly in his path.

            “Nuhuh. No way. You heard the guy. Time to tell Stark he’s back on babysitting duty.”

            “But!” When Peter looked from Rocket to the hallway, Loki and Thor were gone. Back to Rocket, to see him tapping his little claws on a screen Peter couldn’t make sense of.

            “How do you get a screen for your little paws?” Peter blurted.

            Rocket nearly froze if not for the snarl around his lips. “Stark? Come get your kid.”

            “What are you talking about?” Tony’s voice said through the earpiece in Rocket’s, very small, very cute, very fuzzy ear. “Is he back in control?”

            “Thor and I went ahead and just put him in his new body. Figured it’d be easier than waiting around with politics and such.” Rocket snorted. “Y’know, I hate politics. Awful lot of effort to lie about a bunch of crap that don’t matter if you ask me.”

            “I definitely remember asking,” Tony said, dry as the desert. “I’ll be right there. Tell him to stay put.”

            “Oh, come on!” Peter groaned. He collapsed back onto the cot Loki slept on earlier—that _they both_ had slept on earlier. “I’m not a baby!”

            “ _I’m not a baby!”_ Rocket repeated in a high and whiny grating voice that definitely sounded nothing like Peter Parker. “That’s just what a baby would say. Just stay put, listen to your dad.”

            “Mr. Stark isn’t my dad.” Despite what Tony seemed to think sometimes.

            “Well, he paid for your new body, so he’s kind of like your dad now.” Rocket smiled something that was all teeth and very little mirth. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

            Peter deflated and crossed his arms over his bare chest.

            “… Thanks, I guess.”

 

            Tony waited to hug Peter until he was fully clothed in a pair of jeans and an Iron Man t-shirt. With one arm wrapped around his shoulder, he guided Peter out of the room where Rocket had taken to completely ignoring him for his tablet, and gave his bicep a squeeze.

            “How’s the new Rari drive, kid? Think it compares to the original?” Tony grinned down at him, looking more like his old self now that Peter was looking more like his own self. “How’d I do?”

            Just like things were back to normal.

            Peter shrugged. “I mean. I don’t know what it normally feels to have a new body. I guess it’s good? It feels the same. I think. I never noticed the differences before.”

            “You’re probably still all twisted up from sharing with a genuine super villain for a while there. Can’t blame you.” Tony slapped his palm down on Peter’s shoulder twice. “But you talked your way back to the land of the living. That’s a damn good trick.”

            “Mr. Stark, Loki isn’t…” Peter shook his head. “Mr. Stark. I want to help. I want to help a lot.”

            Tony frowned and stopped walking. “Haven’t we talked about this before.”

            “Listen, Mr. Stark.” Peter held his hands out in a plea. “I need to know what’s going on. If I’m gonna help—”

            “See, that’s the thing, you don’t have to help. Just sit back, alright?” Tony clasped both hands on Peter’s shoulders. “This is all new to us too. Let the big kids figure it out, you just relax. Take a sabbatical. You’ve earned it. Once we get that evil queen, magically transmitted disease out of you, you’ll be right as rain. We’ll send you back to Aunt May. Easy peesey.”

            Tony turned away, already pulling out his phone to dial. “You want pizza again? I think you should order pizza again.”

            Peter didn’t follow. “Mr. Stark!”

            “I’m getting pineapple!” Tony hollered over his shoulder. “If you leave the compound, I’ll know about it, so don’t even try!”

            “Stop trying to be my dad!”

            Tony stopped dead in his tracks. He turned, eyebrows pulled together like they’d been stitched into a hem.

            “What?”

             The body was a damn good fake because Peter could feel his stomach drop in the exact same way it did when Tony gave him _that_ look and used _that_ voice.

            “I said—I said you’re not my dad. So… So, stop trying to be my dad.” Peter straightened up.

            Tony crossed the floor between them, swift. He lifted a finger, pointed it at Peter, and then shook his head with tight lips.

            “I know. Oh, I know it.” He finally said. “I know it more than you think.” Tony clenched his hand and lowered it, hand resting on the inside of his elbow. “You’re just supposed to be some kid, yeah?”

            “That’s all I am,” Peter voiced despite himself, feeling hollow for it.

            “If only.” Tony’s hand rested on the inside of Peter’s neck hollow for just a second before he seemed to think better of it and put his arm down again. “You being here doesn’t change the fact I watched you die. I watched that. Not anybody else. You should have been with family. You should have been with May. You left her alone, do you get that? I’m just trying to make sure you don’t do it again.”

            “It’s not up to you, though!” Peter stepped back. “I can make my own choices!”

            “Are you trying to break everybody’s heart around you, or is that just collateral for your budding adolescent ego?” Tony hissed like venom. “May lost everybody, and then she lost you too!”

            “I was trying to save her! You made me an Avenger!”

            “Peter, shut _up_! Do you really not get it? A world without you in it doesn’t save her! It doesn’t save anybody!” The tears in Tony’s eyes were thick but immune to gravity as always. Tony Stark never cried. “You don’t get a choice in this! You’re staying here while I deal with Thanos, while we figure out the magic, and then you go home. That’s the end of it.”

            Tony turned on his heel again.

            Before Peter could stop the words bursting out of him, he snapped back. “No, it’s not!”

            Tony’s back was rimrod straight, like the suit of armor was now the layer underneath his skin instead of over it. Tony looked over his shoulder, jaw clenched shut.

            “Don’t make me find out what Rocket can make that artificial body do.”

            It was like being dunked in ice a hundred times over to hear the threat come from Tony Stark, Avenger and personal hero. Peter’s breath left in a gust of air and he stared after Tony’s disappearing form as he walked down the hallway and back to the depths of wherever he was planning Thanos’s end with the other Avengers.

            Peter saw glimpses of the Avengers over the next few days, but maybe he had spent too much time with Loki. The sight of them, even Captain America back in all his large, beefy, nazi-punching glory, had become tainted with the threat of knowing what they could do, if aggravated enough into grounding him.

            Tony tried to talk to him, but Peter rounded corners to avoid him. Shoved cereal down his mouth like he was a cement truck paving a pothole, or popping up from the couch to go for a run in the gym in that moment.

            It wasn’t like he didn’t try to leave the compound, because he had. Just tentative little motions onto the roof or to open a window. Each time, FRIDAY went fricken nuts.

            So, a no-go.

            Day five came and found Peter pacing circles into the floor the window of his suite.

            “You seem tense.”

            Where Tony’s voice sent Peter into tense anger, Loki’s smooth recitation felt like being given a cake and then out of that cake popped an even better, bigger cake. Damn the physics. There were wizards now.

            Peter whirled around. Loki, wearing leathers over his body that looked like the casual Friday of what he’d worn in his death, leaned against the wall with tiny Spider-Man patterned bouncy ball in his hand.

            “Mr. Loki!” A name made of air from his lungs.

            “Look.” Loki tossed the ball down and it jumped back into his palm. He turned it, Spidey side out. “It’s you.”

            “Mr. Loki, are you okay? You’ve been sick—”

            “Ah. Helping with the great dark magic dilemma and some Thanos planning is all.” Loki shrugged. “A little rest here and there. I’ve been very busy.”

            “Yeah?” Peter snorted. “I got grounded by Mr. Stark.”

            Loki’s eyebrows raised minutely. “Oh?”

            “Yeah. I’m not allowed to leave until they fix that magic stuff and then I have to go back to Aunt May, but I can’t see her until then. I guess in case I die or something, I don’t know.”

            “What can Stark possibly do if you leave?” Loki walked from the wall over to the bed and took a seat on the mattress while Peter kept pacing tread marks into the carpet. “Are you on an allowance?”

            “No!” Peter huffed. “He said…” His shoulders dropped and he shuffled back to sit next to Loki on the bed. “He said I shouldn’t make him find out what Rocket can… Can do to the new body he made.”

            When Peter finally looked up from the carpet to get an idea of what expression of horror Loki might wear, Loki only seemed to be deep in consideration.

            “What is it?” Peter took the bait.

            “Gutsy. Stark must care for you a lot.”

            “What?!” Peter practically shot out of the bed like his legs were springs. “No, he doesn’t! That’s a death threat!”

            Loki rolled his eyes and leaned back on his elbows.

            “Hardly. It’s only a threat if he could do it, and he can’t. He hugged you in my body. He’d never kill you in yours.” Loki sat back up and stretched his arms above his head like a lazy housecat.

            “How do you know?” Peter demanded.

            Loki stood up. “Let’s find out.”

            His hand gripped Peter’s bicep and then they were outside on the streets of New York, Loki now wearing a suit. He looked up and down the street with an expression of consideration while Peter held his arms outward to steady himself and his churning gut.

            “Oh god.”

            “Which way is your home?” Loki asked airily. When Peter sputtered out a few uhms and ahs, Loki sighed. “That’s not very helpful.”

            Leading them to the edibles outside of Aunt May’s apartment.

            Or wait…

            Shit, the edibles had him all screwed up. Give him a minute, okay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from the beach and had to work double shifts. Now you all know what I meant when I warned about the sporadic updates. I work a full-time job on top of managing my original projects so yeah, sometimes I might not update three times in one day. I might go a month.
> 
> ALSO: this is a very direct PSA that asking me if I'm ever going to update again is a really good way to piss me off so please don't do that or else I'm gonna be really salty and mean.
> 
> But most importantly, I am overwhelmed by the massive influx of what is largely 99.99% positive, encouraging feedback by tons of people who weren't sure where this story was going to go but were and are willing to go there with me. All your comments mean the world and have helped turn this story into something a lot larger than I originally expected, but that I still enjoy so much. Thank you all VERY much! Enjoy part one for now.


	17. THAT'S MY OPINIOOOOON (Part 2)

 

            Thor’s protectiveness couldn’t win out to his short attention span and constant need to do something. Loki woke up to find his bedside empty, his wound wrapped, and the sunlight coming in from cracks in the window’s blinds, pink with the Midgardian dawn.

            His breath hitched, like he hadn’t had a deep inhale in years, before he stretched his good arm above his head and savored the crack that marked notches along his spine.

            “Another day,” he murmured.

            Loki rolled over onto his side and let his magic search along the tendrils of his soul, seeking along the edges where he’d become used to Peter’s nearly blinding energy. Where Peter had brightened his heart before there was only the familiar grey numbness of himself now.

            Lovely.

            Because he didn’t bother keeping track of the quiet, of how long he lied in bed drifting comfortably from sleep and into the soft awareness of not-sleep, Loki couldn’t say how much time passed before the door opened and Bruce peeked his head inside the room.

            “Loki?” he called, quiet.

            “Bruce.”

            Taken as an affirmation, Bruce stepped further into the room. Loki rolled to his other side and eased himself up with an uncensored grunt of morning leisure, the smirk curling even larger when he noted the man who walked in and shut the door behind himself and Banner.

            “Captain,” Loki greeted Steve Rogers.

            Rogers nodded in acknowledgment.

            “You seem better than the last time we crossed paths,” he commented. Bruce eyed Rogers with slight apprehension. “I noticed you haven’t tried to kill anybody. I appreciate it.”

            “I think we can both agree, Captain, that there are far more important people who need killing than either of us.”

            Rogers and Bruce came further into the room, Bruce sitting in the chair closest while Rogers took the one next to it.

            Rogers nodded with comedic stoicism, the kind of seriousness that made Loki feel like the captain was in on the joke of his noble persona. When he replied, Loki was further affirmed in the human’s awareness.

            “I agree that we agree.”

            “How are you—uhm,” Bruce motioned awkwardly to Loki’s arm. “I mean. How are you feeling?”

            Loki used his hand to motion back at Bruce’s hand and Bruce flushed. “Alive and alone. How I prefer it, luckily enough.”  

            “Rocket and Thor got ahead of themselves. We really would have preferred a bit more preparation before… Well, you know.”

            Loki snorted at Roger’s words. “Yes, well, I’m acclimated to my brother acting first and asking questions later. It typically tends to work out well for him, and considering it stands in his motives for me to be well, it’s only natural that I am alive and speaking, my own man and soul before you now.”

            “You sure do have a way of thinking,” Rogers commented.

            “I do.” Loki turned his attention back to Bruce. “Is the captain babysitting you or me?”

            “Ah.” Bruce flustered again. “Uhm.”

            “Neither.” Rogers handed Loki a sheet of paper, folded up in thirds with text type-written inside. “I asked to come along to give Tony a break from you. You stress him out.”

            “I did throw him out a window,” Loki admitted.

            “You don’t make things easier on yourself, you know that, right?” Bruce buried his face into his hands.

            Loki considered the sheet of paper in his hands. The prose was short and definitive, near list-like with technical efficiency and printed with a Stark Industries letterhead that was bigger than the request itself.

            _Needed: All information on the stones’ powers and origins._

_T.S._

            Loki snorted and waved the paper in the air before setting it ablaze with green fire.

            “Do I get paid hourly or salary?”

            Bruce and Rogers exchanged exasperated looks.

            “Tony’s got more to worry about than you,” Rogers assured. “As much as I’m sure he’d love to be in here and pestering you, he’s our point man on all the tech we’ve got. The sooner you help, the sooner you can join the fight.”

            “Join the fight, hm,” Loki echoed.

            “If you want to join the fight, that is,” Bruce quickly added.

            “I’m not particularly eager to run back into the throes of battle after my last experience when Thanos had only two stones and not the entire gauntlet filled. It didn’t exactly end well for me.” Loki leaned back and shut his eyes. He let his wrist flourish and a pile of books appeared from the seidr pocket before plopping onto the bed between himself and the avengers.

            “I charge late fees if they’re not returned in a timely manner.”

            Rogers scooped the books off the bed and the weight easing off the mattress moved Loki’s ankle just a bit at the joint. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

            Having received what he came for, Rogers stood up to leave the room. Eyes still closed, Loki didn’t see the interaction between the two—only heard Bruce say, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

            “Alright.” Then, from the door, “Hey Loki?”

            Loki opened one eye. “Hm?”

            Rogers nodded. The books in his overcrowded arms budged with the movement. “Thank you.”

            Loki rolled his eye and shut it again. “Of course, Captain.”

            The silence in the room was thick with the air of Bruce’s awkward thoughts, the clear second guessing of whatever was on his mind. Loki let him fumble with himself, shifting back and forth on the chair, his hands constantly rubbing over the top of his pants like he was wiping off a sheen of sweat. After a minute, Loki opened his eyes and watched him—the way Bruce stared at the ceiling and clenched and unclenched his fists.

            “You may as well ask me, Bruce,” Loki said. “I don’t plan on mindreading today.”

            “Are you okay?” Bruce blurted. Loki raised his eyebrows.

            “What?”

            Bruce’s lips puffed out and his eyes darted to the wall, his fingers picking at his shirt. “I just. Uhm. You were really sick, Loki. Thor was concerned, and Thor is never concerned. Not since everything that’s happened.”

            “Old habits.” Loki sat up to lean forward and rest his elbows on his knees. “Were you worried about me?” He let the grin paint his tone smug.

            “Yes!” Bruce gave him direct attention then with an almost adorable sort of riled up attitude. “You were dead! You came back, sharing your body with some kid a thousand years your junior! You were tearing yourself apart, Loki, you didn’t know who you were. Where you were from. You were being eaten up by this other person in your body…”

            Bruce’s fire died suddenly, and he leaned back, out of breath and shy again. He mumbled to the floor, “Of course I was worried…”

            “You empathize.”

            Bruce’s eyes snapped back to him.

            “… Yes.”

            “Well, your concern is cute, but unneeded. I am fine. Clearly.” Loki motioned to himself to let his magic turn his ragged clothes into his usual leathers, his hair now slicked back in its usual style. He knew his body again, knew it to be older and scarred like before Peter had taken over him.

            Bruce frowned. “… Are you sure?”

            “I am not a human,” Loki’s temper came quick with the early morning. “I am not weak to conflict. I survive and move on. I do not live in constant peril with parts of myself as you do. I understand and acknowledge my monsters, I do not hide or blame them. I am better than that.”

            “Not even from Peter?”

            Loki clenched his jaw. “We are not companions. You are Thor’s friend and a guard dog when needed. I have no interest in continuing on, as if we are _fond_. We are not.”

            Bruce only frowned at him.

            “I’m kinda fond,” he admitted.

            “I am not,” Loki hissed. “Now leave before I do something to show you how unattached I am to you, and the boy.”

            Bruce sighed and lifted himself off the chair. “Fine. If you’re going to be that way. Fine.” Just like Rogers though, he had to get it out before he left the room. “Thanks, anyway. You didn’t have to give Steve those books, or help Peter. You’re a good guy sometimes.”

            Before Loki could snap again, Bruce was gone. Loki crossed his arms and let out a deep breath before testing the waters of what he could do.

            He teleported out of the room and onto the roof of the tower.

            The city below had just begun it’s buzzing with life. Since his last visit, the world seemed smaller. _Halved_ , his brain reminded him to the displeasure of his gut. Loki eased himself down so his legs dangled over the side of the scaffolding and he stared out at this place.

            A remnant of Peter inside himself felt at home. Loki sighed and rubbed the back of his neck in defeat.

            Damn him. He was fond.

            Thor found him there, when the sun had gone from favoring the east to collapsing into the west. He settled beside Loki on the scaffolding, a little big and clumsy, but powerful enough to keep from falling. As if Thor was daring gravity to tell him he couldn’t sit beside his brother.

            “You’re awake,” Thor said. He bumped a shoulder into Loki’s bicep affectionately before giving him a pat on the head. “I’m glad.”

            Loki swiped at Thor’s oafish palm. Thor slapped it on the back of Loki’s neck out of spite.

            “I’m awake,” Loki grumbled. “Despite all odds and attempts to stop me from being so.”

            “Nobody has ever said you weren’t stubborn,” Thor agreed. They sat in silence for a moment before Thor let out a deep breath and said, “Loki?”

            “Yes.”

            “Please stop dying.”

            He nearly fell off the building. Loki turned to him, expecting Thor to be giving him one of those big dumb hopeful looks. He saw instead a man that looked too much like Odin, staring out at the city below them, something wet in his blue eye.

            “Stark is overcome with the grief of watching that boy die. He’s kept him in the tower, metaphorically tied up to stop him from being lost all over again… I hate it.” Thor shook his head.

            “Why?” Loki murmured, the way he used to talk to Thor when they were young and he’d been habituated to placating Thor’s rage instead of stoking it.

            “I hate it the most for how I understand it. I want nothing more than to crush you to me until your bones break so you can never leave again. To never let you out of my sight.”

            Terror coiled in Loki’s gut at the thought of being locked away, like Odin had done to him, to Hela. In a cage, for safe keeping, locked away until useful. The nausea made Loki move his arm closer to his stomach, like that might hold it together.

            “But I know you would loathe me for it. I would hate you just the same for doing it to me. It’s the part of me that acts like Odin, I know it.” Thor wiped at his eye and sniffed. “I don’t want to lose you, but I know I can’t stop you either. I just…” When he turned back to Loki, all sad eyed and pitiful, Loki’s stomach bottomed for a different reason.

            “Please, promise me. Just to try. I can’t lose anybody else. I can’t lose you anymore. It never gets easier.” Then, as if that wasn’t enough. “I always think, this is the last time. Every other time, we were lucky. We can’t be lucky anymore. We can’t expend that much fate on ourselves. It isn’t fair.”

            Thor’s hand slipped off Loki’s neck and Loki, impulsive, grabbed the back of Thor’s neck in response and turned his gaze away from this old and weary king parading around with his brother’s face.

            “I will try,” he promised. If his voice was raw, it was from the altitude.

            Thor wrapped his arm around his shoulder, like they used to sit, and Loki let him.

 

            He went to the streets first, despite not knowing his way around the city outside the context of the invasion. Loki cloaked himself as he passed through the crowds of forlorn faces. Humanity carried on, as it always did, wearier for their grief but always moving through it. A species made of scar tissue, harder for the things they survived. Thicker.

            Loki used instinct that didn’t smell like strategic memories of the chitauri or Thanos. He followed the part of him that felt warm when he looked down this street or at that building until he found himself in front of a large edifice filled with youths like Peter. Loki watched, saw a young girl with messy hair and a scowl that sent distinct pangs in his heart.

            He missed the scowl of the Valkyrie and the way she conquered the ground beneath her feet no matter where in the universe she stood. He knew she was safe, with Korg and the remnants of their people, if only they had survived the snap.

            If only.

            Loki settled on a bench outside the school and watched the two, distantly, like he was watching a Midgardian film. He settled his chin on his hand while the surly girl and the boy—MJ and Ned—came closer. Talking.

            “You’re an idiot,” she said.

            “What! No!” Ned said. “It’s totally possible! Haven’t you watched the new deGrasse Tyson special?”

            MJ scoffed. “He’s a hack.”

            The two neared. Ned bounced a ball in his hand. Loki stretched his leg out.

            “What!” Ned huffed. “What makes him a hack!?”

            “He’s a fun-sucker.”

            Ned laughed. “He’s a lot like you then?”      

            The ball bounced from the concrete to his hand. Loki stretched his leg out further as Ned neared, and…

            Ned’s feet tripped over Loki’s outstretched leg, still cloaked from the teen’s sight. He toppled, dropped the ball, and MJ burst into laughter.

            Loki picked up the ball. When he turned it in his palm, a tiny Spider-man insignia stared back at him. He ran his finger along the webbing and walked away from the laughter of MJ and Ned.

            He continued walking, bouncing, until he smelled something he didn’t remember from his own memories. A husky sweetness like an herb. A foreign thought in his brain called out, ‘Weed.’

            Loki remembered edibles.

            “That’s worth a look.”

 

             Later, when he found Peter pacing circles into his carpet, Loki showed him the ball and spun a lie about working hard with his lovely avengers. Then Peter commented about not being allowed to see Aunt May until Stark’s protectiveness died out (which would be never), and Loki couldn’t be blamed for what happened next. He was the God of Mischief after all.

             “Mr. Loki!” Peter whispered loudly. His eyes darted over his shoulder back and forth down the sidewalk they meandered along. “We can’t—I’m not supposed to leave the compound!”

            “Supposed to,” Loki echoed. “Don’t limit yourself.”

            “I’m not limiting myself I just—I don’t know—What if the dark magic—I dunno! What if something happens! What if somebody sees us!?”

            Peter nearly hopped with each step. His hands whipped out in grand gestures and his voice cracked again and again.

            Loki slapped a hand on Peter’s shoulder and the boy calmed minutely.

            “I’ve brought you something.”

            The anxiety lifted, sudden, and Peter’s curiosity beat him once again. It was almost too easy—like waving a stick in front of a pup’s face.

            Stored in the holes of space where the Tesseract and the Casket of Ancient Winters had once been hidden away, Loki opened the void to retrieve his newest stash—a package of innocent looking gummies. Peter gasped.

            “Mr. Loki… Are you peer pressuring me?”

             “Always.” Loki shook the bag. “You said these help with anxiety? You’re anxious. Take one.”

            Peter’s eyes widened. “One full one? Is that safe?”

            Loki shrugged. “If it isn’t, Stark will make you a new stomach.”

            A pause as Peter considered it. “… I’m not _that_ anxious…”

            Loki counted out two edibles for Peter and then stuck three in his mouth. Peter gasped again.

            “I’m not human,” Loki reminded.

            “Clearly,” Peter whispered. Loki handed the other two over to Peter.

            “Where is your Aunt May?”

            Peter grabbed the two edibles and shoved them all in his mouth at once. Talking through gummies, he replied, “We’re close.” He waved a hand forward.

            “Hey, Mr. Loki?”

            “Hm?”

            “Did you put a thing a uh, a cloak? A cloak on us so people can’t see us?”

            “Naturally.” Loki finally removed his hand from Peter’s shoulder.

            “Why is that?”

            “Likely no one would recognize us,” Loki assured, “But it’s easier to maneuver a city while cloaked.”

            “If I could be invisible,” Peter began, still a bit muffled through the gummies, “I would move all of Mr. Stark’s stuff. Not a lot though. Just a little bit.”

            “Ah.” The pride warmed Loki’s chest. “Just enough for him to question if something was happening at all. Genius.”

            “Then when he figured it out, I’d—I’d like… Not anything mean but maybe a note that says, like, ‘Ahah! That’ll show you to tell me what I can’t do! Or Can do!...’”

            Peter shrugged and swallowed the gummies finally.

            “Y’know. Whatever.”

            “I do know.” Loki nodded firmly. “Whatever.”

            Peter stopped in front of a residential tower and swallowed again. “Alright… This is it.”

            Loki pushed Peter by the shoulder until the two of them were inside. “Then in we go,” he murmured. Peter shuddered dramatically before making his way to a metal door and pressing a button beside it. An elevator.

            “I don’t want—” Peter implored Loki, big eyed while he looked upwards at him. “I don’t want her to know we’re here. I just wanna… I just wanna see how she is. That’s it.”

            Loki shrugged. “If you say so.”

            “I do.” Peter squared his shoulders. “Thanks for listening to me.” Then, bitter and under his breath, “Mr. Stark should take lessons.”

            He turned his head to snort at Peter’s childishness just when the elevator dinged in arrival. Peter shuffled inside, pressed the number for his floor, and waited. Then he burst into giggles.

            Loki raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”

            “Mr. Loki. I can’t believe we’re here.” Peter giggled again. “I’m having you, God of whatever—”

            “Mischief.”

            “You’re gonna meet my aunt. Or well, see her. And be in my apartment. And you gave me weed gummies!? This is weird! I love it!”

            Peter, bright eyed and nearly bouncing in the elevator, grabbed Loki by the arm and gave him a squeeze of a side-hug.

            “Thanks, man. Thanks thanks thank you.”

            Loki expected to feel frozen but having shared a body with Peter so long made the touch feel like a reconnection of wires. Loki’s hand reached up to pat the boy’s forearm and he nodded, silent and unsure of the words Peter might need.

            “You listen to me. That’s so cool. Thanks.” Peter squeezed him again before letting go. Apparently whatever he had wanted from the embrace, he had received. He patted Loki’s shoulder and separated when the door opened to prance along his way to his old home.

            Loki followed, surprisingly dutifully, keeping the cloak over them both and hoping maybe Aunt May wouldn’t be in the apartment at all. Whatever it was Peter hoped to find, whatever replacement for talking to her he was trying to achieve by standing aside and watching this mother figure… Loki knew, first-hand, very few things replaced knowing she was looking to you, _seeing_ you, and… Well, loving you all the same. For no matter what had happened before. Perhaps completely in spite of what had happened before.

            He pressed his palm into Peter’s back and transmuted them both through the wall and into the apartment. Peter gasped and separated, quick as could be, while taking in the sight of the barren home in the dark.

            “She’s not here?” he whispered.

            “Evidently not.” Loki used his seidr to switch the lights on. The floor lamps and overhead fixtures brightened the room easily. Peter spun around, eyes darting to a few features in particular and breathing out a few ‘whoahs’ as he turned himself in circles.

            Loki traced his fingers over the top of the deep green couch, taking in the bumps of corduroy while Peter tried to regain what little composure he had.

            “Mr. Loki?” Peter finally whispered.

            Peter’s head had fallen into his hands. He sat, pressed near the kitchen counter and looking ever much like the boy he was.

            He choked out, “It looks different,” then raised his head to stare at Loki with huge, teary eyes.

            Loki sighed and took a seat on the arm-rest of the couch. Simple, heavy, he told Peter what he had known since falling into the void.

            “Life continues.”

            “Yeah, I mean…” Peter sniffed and wiped his nose. “I know. I know. I’m glad she’s doing things. I didn’t want her to just… be crying in the dark in here. I didn’t want that… But…”

            Loki remembered seeing Thor after the fall, when he had grabbed him by the chest armor and whirled him out of the Avenger’s quinjet. There had been the heaviness of knowing he was different, with a little more life coloring the edges of his face and the new etchings in his armor, and also the way life escaped Loki’s fingers in those years. He could only guess how Odin and Thor and Frigga had dealt with his death, and Loki had never been a fan of having to guess.

            “She can live her life without you.”

            Peter curled into himself and let his head lower again to hide his tears. Loki stood again and stepped away to give the boy his privacy while he looked over the kitchen. The traces of Peter were still in the home—pictures still connected with little magnets onto the fridge of Peter’s crooked, thin-lipped smile and aged back as far as his toddler years. Loki opened the fridge to note it was well-stocked with take-out containers. He grabbed one off the shelf at random to slap it down on the counter beside Peter.

            Peter yelped and jumped upright. After a long moment of observation of the take-out, Peter’s eyes widened.

            “You can’t just go through her food!”

            “I just did.” Loki opened the container. The sweet aroma of chilly noodles covered in a creamy sauce wafted out into the air. Loki grabbed one with his bare fingers.

            “Aren’t you supposed to be sophisticated?” Peter huffed. “Use utensils?”

            Loki rolled his eyes. “For what purpose? To impress you?”

            Peter paused. “… Fair. Rude, but fair.” He dunked his fingers into the noodles and hung them over his gaping mouth like a whale before dropping them down into his young throat.

             “When your uncle died,” Loki said through mouthful of noodles, “You didn’t see her rot in her mourning for him.”

            “I do not wanna talk about this with you, dude,” Peter huffed.

            “I’m only reminding you.”

            “I’m gonna shove all these noodles at your stupid face if you don’t stop reminding me.”

            The grumpiness paired with the noodles and the warm feeling of something in his gut (maybe those gummies?), Loki laughed and grabbed another finger snatch of creamy penne noodles.

            They finished together, with Peter grabbing the last noodle by licking it out of the container with the Styrofoam pressed against his face. He tossed box into the trash and turned away from Loki with a quick spin on his heel.

            “Let’s go see my room.”

            Loki followed him down the hallway until they entered a small bedroom. Peter looked around, comedically observant as he peered around the lofted bed and at the high shelves decorated with tiny plastic men in comedic costumes.

            “This is the same,” Peter announced, relief coloring his words. Likely, May just avoided the room after Thanos’s genocide. It was one thing to reclaim the kitchen and the living space, rooms that were already partly hers. Another thing to unpack a boy’s room and settle on the finality that he wouldn’t return to it.

            A small blond head caught Loki’s eye and he groaned.

            “What?”

            Loki grabbed the tiny action figure of his brother’s likeness and held it up for Peter to see.

            “Really, Peter?”

            Peter laughed. “In my defense, they don’t make Loki action figures!”

            “I should pop his head off.”

            Loki turned the toy over in his hands. Peter stumbled over and snatched the toy, yelling, “No! He’s limited edition!”

            _Click-click._

            The two froze at the sound of the front door opening. Peter regained himself first, “C’mon!” and slapped Loki in the chest. Like a lightning bolt, Peter went to the window, opened it, and launched himself outside.

            Loki followed—why was he always following these days—and landed easily in the alley outside where Peter was already hiding behind a dumpster.

            “I could have teleported us,” Loki reminded. “And, also, we’re cloaked.”        

            “She would figure it out. Anyway, we should go.”

            But he was still staring up at the apartment window, longing. Loki sighed.

            “I think you should tell her you’re here,” he decided.

            And that’s when the trouble really started.

           

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey sup so my life has been in shambles lately! That's why this update took forever! Cool!
> 
> I've been asked a few times in comments if I have a tumblr, and I do now (https://toniwilder.tumblr.com/). Also, while I've been gone, I gave a talk at Radiant Northwest on implementing psychology into writing and that video is on my tumblr as well.
> 
> Comments are my life blood and I adore everybody's patience and loyalty. Thank you guys SO much.


	18. It's an avocado[intense grief].... Thaaanks.

When Ben died the world had stopped. Not for long, it never stopped for long, but it stopped just long enough so May felt herself floating in the between of a sensible, working human being and something that felt more like a lie. As if every moment she succeeded in proper interaction and maturity, she was a falsity for it. 

She couldn’t sit around and weep. There was a little boy who needed her. May saved her tears for the funeral, and sometimes for showers that were longer than she anticipated because she hunkered down near the drain and wailed from the meat in her gut into the pipes of their apartment. Those sometimes had to be the only times. 

She had a little boy who needed her.

Until she didn’t.

When Tony disappeared and Peter didn’t come home, she knew. When Tony came back and Peter didn’t, she knew. 

She hated that she knew.

It was easier this time, if it could be easy at all, because the rest of the world screamed and wailed into their pipes with her. When she teared up in a subway, the stranger beside her would nod and give her a tissue. Maybe cry with her.

Everybody who had little boys, or girls, or husbands, or uncles who needed them didn’t have them anymore. So, while May Parker felt inexplicably alone, she felt seen, and that helped a little. In the same way that being diagnosed with a tumor helped with knowing when death would come.

She took to going to groups. Not support groups, because talking made it hurt more, but crafting and bowling and anything that might replace a schedule that used to be occupied with parent teacher conferences or fretting over Peter’s newest fixation of heroism.

Tonight was a reading group at the library for young children. Some who accidentally called her mom, some who listened in corners with clenched fists when lines about family got especially real. Those kinds of kids.

May walked through the door of her apartment and scowled. She’d left the lights on again. She shook her head and trooped over to the door of the fridge to make herself dinner. She sat so she faced the fridge and could look at Peter’s face while she picked apart an old burrito she couldn’t finish the other day.

“Jenna started crying during the reading again.” She stared at Peter hard, like he might move in the old pictures like a Harry Potter spell. “She’s a lot like you, actually. Back when Ben…” She shook her head and stabbed the edge of the burrito. “I should nuke this probably.”

May pulled herself up with a heavy motion and made the heavy trek to the microwave.

“I need to buy candles,” she murmured. Something musky, like an old forest, had wafted in the room since she’d last been home. “What did you always like? Those cheap vanilla ones?”

She set the time for a minute and collapsed just a bit into the counter so her forearms spread out to keep her upright and her legs stretched long to the middle of the kitchen place mat.

“God, what is that?” 

May sniffed again. It was so… distinctly foreign. Mold maybe? No, too fresh. A fragrant mouse?

Armed with a plastic bag from under the sink, May set out to walk the apartment to find the source of the smell.

Time stopped again, the first time since Peter’s… y’know.

Peter’s room door wasn’t cracked open, like a mistake of a shitty building code. The door was wide open, the smell wafting from the open frame, and a toy Thor figure on the ground between the frame trim.

“Get out of there! Get out of there!” May ran for the room, pushed herself inside to find it empty and the window open as well. She bolted to the window and screamed into the empty alley. “Leave me alone! Leave him alone!”

May slammed the window shut, turned around and took two steps, and her legs gave out. She collapsed on the floor holding that tiny Thor figure in her hands until the sobs keened into those wails.

“What is that smell?!” she screamed, like that anchor might make her tears stop. 

It didn’t. She coiled into herself, that stupid toy held to her chest, and she cried so hard she didn’t hear the window open again. She didn’t hear the little boy. She didn’t hear anything but her tears and then the soft, shaking sound of Peter Parker saying:

“Aunt May, please don’t cry.”

May Parker fainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long hiatus I know. Lots of things happened including quitting my job, getting a puppy, having a mental breakdown. You know, usual holiday stuff. Have a short chapter to get back in the swing of things.


End file.
